Finding Solace In Lies
by Amanda Kitswell
Summary: Three years after the murder of Warrick Brown, Catherine Willows still mourns. But when her car is vandalized and a stack of life changing photos is left in her front seat, will she be able to handle the fact that she's been living with a lie?
1. Prologue

**I'm ba-ack! After nearly a year long sabbatical or whatever you'll call my excuse for massive writer's block, I've returned to my favorite hobby. I've endured many annoying false starts, but this seems to be the most promising start to a multi-chapter story. This is all I have at the moment, and it seems to stand well enough on it's own for now. It definitely has more to it, I assure you. I'll do my best to update, but as I said, this is truly all I have right now. Hopefully you all enjoy it and the surprises and heartache that I'm going to introduce. I promise not to be too cruel.**

**Amanda

* * *

**

Nick watched regretfully as Catherine approached the headstone. She slowly knelt in front of it, lowering her head into her hands. He shouldn't have brought her here. He shouldn't be enabling the pain.

What the hell was he thinking? If he hadn't brought her, she would've come on her own. She would have found a way. This was a place of old pain, old tragedy, but a place where she seemed to find some kind of solace.

He looked up when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. Somebody was watching them from far off in the distance. The person was too far away for Nick to identify anything other than gender, but the man's stature... it was familiar. He knew it so well. Nick looked back down to the headstone that Catherine was kneeling in front of, and when he looked back up a moment later, the man was gone.

Convinced it was his imagination, Nick moved to stand beside Catherine, placing his hand on her shoulder as a show of comfort and support. He didn't know what else to do. He couldn't say anything. He was seeing his dead best friend while visiting his grave. He had to believe it was his imagination or else he may have to face that he might be going a little crazy because of the grief. It had been three years since Warrick was murdered. Gedda was dead, most of his lackeys were in prison, and now Nick had nothing to focus on but the fact that his friend was dead, and there was no way to bring him back.

But then why did he still feel like he was being watched?

* * *

Catherine blinked back the tears that came every time she visited this place. The pain should have lessened after all this time, but then again three years wasn't that long. Though it seemed that nineteen years of her daughter's life just flew by. Lindsey was excited as hell to get out of Vegas when she went off to college in Massachusetts. Her baby had gotten into Harvard, and now Catherine was truly alone.

No, not alone. She had the team. Though she couldn't even say that with the same conviction that had once defined her. The only ones left were Nick and Greg. Ray Langston was doing well, but he just didn't fill the void that Grissom, Sara, and... God, she couldn't even think about it. She missed him too much. A rogue tear slipped down her cheek, and dozens more followed suit.

Through the cloudy haze of moisture glazing her eyes, Catherine was barely able to make out the flakes of snow drifting down, disappearing into the earth just as quickly as they fell. Winter in Nevada never ceased to amaze her. After the one hundred degree days of summer, she would never have expected it to ever snow in Las Vegas. But here she was on Christmas Eve, kneeling in front of her friend's grave, thinking about how she would never be able to celebrate with him again.

She wished things had turned out differently. She wished he hadn't done all the stupid, ridiculous things that led to his death. She thought that maybe if he had confided in her, she would've been able to change his fate. But now she could only weep, Nick's hand on her shoulder, supporting her in spite of his own grief. She could only think of the woulda-coulda-shouldas, instead of accepting what she had done.

She could only, through the thoughts of sorrow and regret and intense loss, wish him a distant and half-hearted Merry Christmas.


	2. Chapter 1

**Why yes, I do believe I have a chapter two, and I really hope you guys like it as much as I do. Thanks to Iris Johansen, I've been able to find quite a bit of inspiration to be sneaky and mean and just all around creative. No need to review, I'll be updating as I write. I won't be holding out until I get a certain number of reviews, because it's just not my style. Enjoy!

* * *

**

Slamming her locker door shut, Catherine turned to go home for the day. The job was starting to take its toll on her. She was beyond exhausted, and the more she dealt with burglary, assault, rape, and murder, she began to wonder if it was worth it. When Sam had passed away, he'd left her enough money to send Lindsey to an Ivy League school and still have enough to retire to a remote Caribbean island where she could escape everything. The only reason she hadn't was because she didn't want to leave behind her friends and give up the career that had given her the means and the courage to leave her bastard of a husband.

But now, it was what she wanted more than ever. Her letter of resignation was sitting on her nightstand at home, signed and ready to be handed in. She wasn't quite sure why she was still putting it off. Maybe because she wasn't quite ready to let go of the job. No, that wasn't it. She was damn sure that she'd had enough of the crime that was running rampant in Las Vegas. All she wanted to do was just take herself out of the mix and away from the madness. No, the reason she was putting it off was because she was in charge. She was the head of the lab, and now she was realizing just how difficult it must have been for Gil to leave. Well, at least she knew that if she were to leave, the lab wouldn't be going into incapable hands. Nick Stokes knew his job and did it damn well.

So why not just do it?

She froze as she approached her car. The driver's side window was shattered. A few stray pieces of the glass had landed on the pavement, but the bulk of it was lying on the seat. _I KNOW _was scratched into the paint on the door in bold letters. Knew what? Her life had been less than eventful in the past few years. No really high profile cases aside from a couple of serial killers, and she hadn't even really been caught in the middle of those. She immediately dialed Nick.

"What's up, Cath?" he said when he picked up.

"Someone busted the window in my car and carved _I KNOW_ in the door."

"What the hell?" His tone was as flabbergasted as she felt, and for good reason. The parking garage was well guarded, and you didn't get in without a badge. And even if someone managed to get past the guard, they'd have to have balls to pull something like this off in front of one of the cameras. "Is anything missing?"

She hadn't even thought to check. "I don't know. I haven't had a chance to check."

"Well, don't touch anything. I haven't clocked out yet. I'll come and take prints, if there are any."

"Alright." She ended the call and slipped her phone back into her purse. She doubted if he'd find any, but there was always a chance.

She approached the sedan, glancing in the shattered window at the shards of glass piled in the seat. She noticed a photo envelope laying atop the pile. She knew she shouldn't touch anything, but it was just too weird to ignore. Catherine picked it up and lifted the flap. There were about ten photos inside, and she slowly pulled them out. It only took the first picture to send her into a whirlwind of grief--it was of Warrick's crime scene as they lifted the sheet over his head. Her heart sank deep as she continued to flip through the first five pictures, all of that horrific night and of the team in the aftermath. But it was the sixth picture that shocked and confused her.

It was of Warrick, sitting on the porch of an old Victorian home, holding a glass of lemonade and smiling with the older, graying man that sat beside him. The picture looked as if it were taken from a close distance, and there was what looked like a leaf in the bottom left corner of the photo. She couldn't remember him ever telling her about someone who lived in a Victorian house. But hell, he hadn't told her much of anything in the last year he was alive.

As if that were a cue, her gaze shifted to the date stamp that had been slightly obscured by the flash that had hit the leaf in the corner. It took her a moment to read it, but when she was able to make it out, she nearly lost her head.

12/10/2010.


	3. Chapter 2

_**I think I sacrificed quantity for quality in this chapter. It's a shorty, but I still think you guys will like it. Merry Christmas, and ENJOY!

* * *

**_

The lamp on the nightstand lit the room in a golden glow, allowing Catherine to stare continuously at the photo envelope that was changing her life even as she sat on her bed. Her mind was racing with everything that it could mean.

The picture that showed Warrick on the porch, talking to the mystery man, was the last one she had seen before she had heard Nick call out to her. She couldn't explain why, but she had hastily stuffed the pictures back in the envelope and slid them into her purse before he was aware that she even had them. He had printed the door of the car, and it wasn't until he had printed above the carved words that he had found anything.

A perfect hand print.

She jumped when her kitten, Sookie, hopped on the bed, her high pitched squeak shattering the silence. She rubbed her head against Catherine's hand, causing her to drop the envelope. The pictures spilled out onto the floor, and she let out a curse. She rubbed the back of Sookie's neck when the kitten continued to rub up against her hand and forearm.

"Why did I agree to let Lindsey bring you home? She doesn't even live here anymore." She stood and bent down to pick up the scattered photos. "I swear, you're gonna be the death of--" She broke off as one of the pictures she had yet to see caught her eye.

In the last picture she had seen, the other man had been facing away from the camera, and she had been unable to see his face. He was slightly heavy set, with gray hair and was wearing a plain dark brown shirt. In the picture that she was staring at now, the person with the camera had moved behind a different bush, and she could now see the gray haired man's face perfectly.

Dammit, what the _hell_ was going on.

* * *

Catherine's brain was a jumbled mess as she merged onto Route 160 and sped toward Pahrump. Her heart was racing, and it felt as if the world were spinning around her. None of this could possibly be true. Three full years of mourning the loss of one of the most important people in her life, and she was just now learning that it may have all been a lie? She couldn't think about it. She just had to get to Pahrump. She had a feeling all her questions would be answered there.

* * *

Gil blinked at the fading rays of sunlight that were casting a yellow-orange glow onto the bedroom wall. A knock at the door had ripped through the finely woven threads of sleep, and as he cleared them away, he felt his partner stir beside him.

"Mmm... honey? Who's at the door?" she asked lazily.

"I don't know. Go back to sleep and I'll go check."

Sara mumbled a response before lifting the sheets above her head to block out the light.

Smiling, Gil swung his legs to the floor, yawning as he stood and shuffled over to the closet. He grabbed his robe and put in on, then headed out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Another knock at the door caused him to shake his head. Whoever was knocking was very eager. He unlocked the door and was surprised to see a frazzled Catherine Willows when he opened it, her hand raised half way to begin knocking again.

"Hello, Catherine. Good to see you." His smile faded as she continued to glare at him. "What's going on?"

She handed him a photo envelope and stared at him expectantly. "You tell me."


	4. Chapter 3

_**Okay, everybody. Here's another short, quality vs. quantity chapter. I really hope it **_**is_ good. Enjoy!

* * *

_**

As he flipped through the pictures, a multitude of emotions flickered across Gil's face. Catherine wasn't surprised at the predominant shock and guilt. The only question he wasn't able to answer was why somebody would victimize her. She had no idea what was going on, or what those pictures really proved.

"Well?" she asked, her tone bleeding impatience and a touch of desperation.

He handed the photos back to her. "I'm sorry, Catherine. I can't--"

"Cut the bullshit, Gil," she broke in. "Somebody thinks I know something, and I have no idea what the hell that is. Three years after he supposedly died, someone sends me a picture of you and Warrick from a year ago, drinking lemonade, without a care in the world."

Catherine's voice was rising. "I'm hurting. I've been hurting for three years. Nothing has made it better; I just numbed it so I could get by for the sake of my daughter, and when you left, for the sake of the team. But this," she flung the pictures at him, "this just made me sick."

She held up her hand when he went to speak. "Don't even try. You and God only knows who else have been lying to me, and I don't want to hear anymore. Either tell me the truth, or stay quiet." The pained expression on his face showed the turmoil he was in. She felt terrible, but at the same time she felt he deserved it. He wasn't the only one feeling helpless.

"Give me a minute," Gil said after a moment's pause. "I have to call Brass. He should be here."

"Oh, by all means. I've only waited three years. What's another couple hours?"

* * *

An hour and a half later, Brass entered the kitchen with a box of donuts, a solemn smile on his face. "Hey, Catherine."

She nodded, her voice failing her for a moment. The past ninety minutes had been awkward to say the least, more so when Sara had joined Gil and Catherine in the kitchen. She had busied herself making coffee--the same coffee growing tepid before Catherine--but the air was still thick with the tension between them, and it only seemed to get worse when Brass arrived.

When she looked up, Catherine noticed Brass was looking between the three of them, seemingly at a loss for words now that the tension was swallowing him as well. He opened the box and held it out. "Donut?"

Then again, maybe not.

"I'll take that as a no," he said, placing the now closed box on the table and taking the seat across from Gil. He picked up the stack of photos that had been straightened up before he'd arrived. "Are these the pictures?"

"Yeah," Catherine answered curtly, her impatience beginning to grow again. "And now that you're here, I'd really like some answers. I think I've waited long enough."

"What do you wanna know?" Brass asked, lifting his eyes from the photos to look at her.

"Well, let's start with the obvious. Is Warrick still alive?"

Her heart was racing as Brass glanced momentarily at Grissom, then looked back to her.

"Yes."


	5. Chapter 4

_Brass couldn't look. He turned and walked away. It felt terrible having to do this to his friends. It felt... wrong. But he had to do it. When Warrick had approached him about Gedda that last time, with the information about the mole, it became clear what needed to be done._

_Warrick had to die._

_But not really. Grissom, Doc Robbins, and the dayshift coroner were the only ones aware of what was going down besides Brass. Grissom had followed McKeen up until he entered the alley. Warrick was to act as if he knew nothing of the undersheriff's involvement with Gedda. Would it be easy? No. But Brass had had faith that Warrick could handle it, and he was right._

_His last glimpse of Grissom had been of him covered in the pints upon pints of blood that had been taken from Warrick for the experiments that Grissom liked to perform. It was more than enough to convince anyone that he had died of exsanguination. Maybe they had gone a little overboard, but it had been necessary. Anything they could to make it as realistic as possible to those uninvolved in the scheme._

_The plan had been difficult, but wildly effective. The look on Catherine's face was proof enough. But the guilt Brass was feeling over it was killing him. She and Nick looked heartbroken, like nothing was right with the world because Warrick was gone. Or so they thought._

_They had to think that. They had to believe that Warrick was dead, or their plans to take Gedda and his entire faction of mob assholes down would all be useless. Warrick was the only witness to see the barber's chair and come back with his life-and balls-intact. The only one to get deep enough into the world of Gedda's murder and debauchery and live to tell the tale._

_And dammit, they needed him to tell the tale. God knew his credibility would be argued because of the drugs and the alcohol and everything in his personal life that was going wrong, they would just have to pray that the judge would look past it all to the great CSI that he had once been, and would hopefully be able to be again._

_In order for any of that to be possible, he had to get Warrick into Witness Protection. The FBI was on board, waiting in Pahrump to pick up Warrick, but first they had to get him to the morgue and then sneak him out to the crime lab out in Pahrump. It wouldn't be easy, but Doc Robbins was to give David the next night off, and-_

_He sighed. If everything seemed to be going so right, why the hell did it feel so God damn wrong?_


	6. Chapter 5

_**Hey, everyone. Here's another chapter of what's turning out to be one epic of a story. Though I'm sure none of you Yo!Blingers mind. I know I wouldn't. By the way, I did a minor edit to the first chapter because I realized I went against the canon and Gedda hadn't been murdered the way I had it written. That's fixed, so everything is as good as can be expected, considering this was a difficult concept to pull off. Still is. If you're so inclined, tell me what you think so far. Don't have to, but it's appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

**_

Punching the disconnect, Warrick put his phone back on the table. She wasn't supposed to find out like this. If he'd just had one more day, he might have been able to tell her himself. There was so much she didn't know, so much that put her in danger.

He had to get to her. He had to explain why he did it. He had to protect her. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to her--or anyone else on the team, for that matter--because of what he'd been given no choice but to do.

But from what Grissom told him, most of that team wasn't with the crime lab anymore. In the past three years, though Nick, Greg and Catherine had stayed on as investigators, few of the lab rats had stuck around. Grissom's absence had a lot to do with it.

Wendy Simms opted for a career as far away from Vegas as possible when she made it to CSI Level 1 status just over six months earlier. Frankly, Warrick couldn't blame her. What he was surprised to learn was that she and Hodges had left together. They were now at the crime lab in Charlotte, NC.

Henry Andrews had to leave after a brutal car accident left him paralyzed. He probably would've been able to cope and still do his job, but an uncontrollable twitch in his right arm made it impossible for him to keep the steady grip a lab tech needed to work efficiently.

Of all the people to leave, however, the one that hit Warrick the hardest was Bobby Dawson. He may not have known him well outside of work, but after years of working together, Warrick had formed bonds with all of the lab techs. And when he'd learned of Bobby's losing battle with lung cancer, he couldn't wrap his mind around it. Not only would he never see him again, but he hadn't even been able to go to his funeral to pay his respects.

The blare of his cell phone tore him from his thoughts, and he realized he'd been tearing up. He wiped away the few that had slipped down his cheeks before he checked the caller ID on his phone. An unknown number flashed on the screen, causing Warrick to hesitate before accepting the call.

"Did you enjoy your little Christmas visit to the cemetery?" a man's voice asked.

"Who is this?" Warrick asked.

"I must say, that Willows bitch really does know how to act. I almost believed she didn't know you were alive."

He was barely able to smother the desperation and fear he felt before he spoke. "She didn't. Not until you left those damn pictures in her car. Leave her out of this."

"Oh, really? Interesting." The man sounded intrigued, as if this entire scenario amused him.

"Who is this, dammit?" Warrick demanded.

"Oh, my mistake. I thought you'd already know. After three years of hiding from my father's cronies, I figured it would be obvious."

There was a moment's pause before it finally sank in, and Warrick could barely see straight. "Nick Gedda."

"Ding ding, we have a winner! Tell me, how does it feel knowing you aren't as hidden as you thought?" When Warrick didn't respond, Gedda sighed. "Well, I see that you're having trouble with this, so I'm gonna get going." After a short pause, he added, "By the way, tell the Willows woman her daughter is very beautiful. I love brunettes."

"What? No! Stay the hell away from Lindsey, you bastard." His voice was barely under a scream, and he noticed the plain-clothes agent outside the motel room turn to look in the window.

"I'm finding that very difficult. She's such a sweet piece, it's difficult to hold back."

A click on the other end told Warrick that the call was disconnected. He cursed loudly before throwing the phone on the bed with a force that caused it to bounce off and land hard on the floor. The battery popped out and slid across the hardwood floor into the wall. He swore again before he dropped into a chair by the window.

The agent guarding the room knocked on the glass, prompting Warrick to look up. He waved for the man to come in, knowing that he couldn't just let this sit. Lindsey was in danger, and he had to make damn sure she didn't stay that way.

God, he hoped he wasn't too late.


	7. Chapter 6

At midnight that night, Catherine returned home, physically and mentally exhausted. It was all too much for her to take in. For three years she'd been lied to. The grief she'd felt was real--so real it had almost killed her--but the reason had been a lie. Five people she was so sure of, that she would have entrusted her life to, had let her heart bleed pain and sorrow. Despite everything they had gone through, she would've hoped that Warrick could have trusted her with this.

The chirp of her cell phone wrested her from her thoughts, and she decided it wasn't worth wallowing in her self pity. She should be happy Warrick was still alive. In a way, she was. But she couldn't help the feeling of betrayal that was threatening to overwhelm her.

She checked the caller ID. Lindsey. She smiled to herself as she plopped into a chair and answered the call.

"Hey, baby. What are you doing up so late?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I decided to call my insomniac mother on her night off because I can always depend on her for a good chat. What's up?"

Catherine hesitated. "Nothing really. Work. How's Cambridge?"

"You're not telling me something. I can tell. You're talking in clips."

"It's nothing. I can handle it." When Lindsey didn't respond, she added, "Really. I'll be fine, sweetie."

After a moment, she heard Lindsey sigh. "Fine. Mass is wonderful. Snowy and cold and everything Vegas isn't. I love it. I just wish I'd been able to come home for the holidays."

"You couldn't help it, Linds. The flights kept getting canceled." Sookie poked her head around the corner, giving a squawk before she trotted over and hopped into Catherine's lap.

"Stupid snow," Lindsey huffed. "How's Sookie?"

"She's annoying. But she grew on me. Like you knew she would, you little sneak."

"I resent that. I am not _little_." Catherine heard a faint knock, then, "There's someone at the door. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright. I love you, Lindsey."

"Love you, too."

Catherine hit the disconnect, smiling to herself as she stood and walked to her bedroom, led more than followed by Sookie. She was ecstatic her relationship with Lindsey was mending so well, and with that in mind, nothing else mattered but getting some much needed rest.

* * *

_Tap_.

_Tap._

"Mm? Sookie?" Catherine mumbled, the heavy fog of sleep lifting slowly. "What're you getting into now?"

_Tap._

With a heavy yawn, she sat up and switched on the lamp, looking around for her kitten getting into mischief, only to find Sookie curled up in a ball beside her.

_Tap._

"What the hell?" she muttered, realizing the sound was coming from her window. There were no trees with branches long enough to reach her window, and she couldn't think of anything else that could cause the noise.

_Tap._

And yet there it was.

Getting out of bed, she moved over to the window. She opened the window and leaned outside--she had never felt the need for screens, since she normally just had the airconditioner running--looking around carefully for anything that could have caused the tapping noise.

Suddenly, a strong hand covered her mouth, and though it was muffled, it didn't prevent her surprised scream. She twisted, trying to break free, as an arm wrapped around her, holding her still. "Shh, it's okay, Catherine. Calm down. I'm not gonna hurt you."

The voice was familiar, and she went still as she recognized it. The man released her, and she turned to look at him. The glow of the lamp light lit his dark face, and his green eyes glistened.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "Warrick."


	8. Chapter 7

Catherine drew back her hand and slapped him hard across the face. "You son of a bitch."

Warrick rubbed his cheek gingerly. "I probably deserved that."

His voice sounded so good. "You're damn right you did. What the hell are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me about all this? Why didn't you _trust_ me?" The words were spilling out, and she couldn't hold back the tears. Strength be damned, she was angry and hurt and, damn it to hell, happy to see the bastard.

"I'm gonna tell you everything, Cath. But it's kinda cold out here."

She glared. "You deserve to be cold." Warrick frowned. "Fine. Come in." He grunted as he pushed himself up and through the window. "Why didn't you just come to the door?"

He rolled to the ground before setting himself up on his knees. "Because I can't be sure who's watching your house, and I can't afford to be seen by anyone yet." When she frowned in confusion, he continued, "You want to know what's going on, right?"

"More than anything." Sookie meowed and jumped off the bed, bounding over to Warrick. She rubbed up against his legs, squawking and purring. "Sookie, really?"

"Since when do you have a cat?" Warrick asked, scratching the kitten's ears gently.

"Lindsey's boyfriend has a cat, and she gave birth to a litter of kittens. They were able to find a home for all except her. Linds brought her home, knowing that I'd fall in love with her." She smiled to herself, then, "Now tell me what the hell is going on."

He sighed. "Sit down. You're not gonna like a lot of this."

She released her breath, her head spinning as she stood and rounded the bed. Lindsey. She had to call Lindsey. Catherine took her cell phone from the night stand and punched in her daughter's number. When the call went straight to voicemail, she nearly went into a panic. She left a clipped message telling her daughter to call her before disconnecting.

Warrick went to speak, but his cell phone's ringtone interrupted him. Catherine moved toward him as he answered the call. "What's happening?" He listened, and an expression of intense relief flooded his features. "Thank God. Where's she going to be?" Pause. "Alright. I'll tell her mother."

"Lindsey?" Catherine asked breathlessly.

"Yeah. The agents that picked her up brought her to a safehouse. They wouldn't tell me exactly where in case your house is bugged or someone is listening in on the call. But you can bet wherever it is, Lindsey's safe." A profound sense of relief left Catherine limp, and Warrick sprang from the chair to catch her mid-fall. "You okay, Cath?" he asked, the concern plain in his voice.

She nodded, words failing her for the moment. He was so close, she could smell the faint musk of cologne mixed with sweat. It was a heady scent that left her reeling. She could see the specks of brown in his glassy green eyes, and she turned away to hide her own baby blues from his prying gaze. Warrick set her steady on her feet, and Catherine moved over to the bed and sat once more, shaking off the grip of lust that had taken hold of her.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" she asked, flinching ever so slightly at the implication that question usually held.

"I don't think it would be safe. I'm not one hundred percent sure I wasn't seen when I came here."

A wave of disappointment from his refusal--and relief from his ignorance--washed over her, but she ignored it. "If you're sure."

His features twisted in a pained expression. "I'm so sorry, Cath. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Then you should have told me what you were planning. You should have been able to trust me."

"It's not that I couldn't trust you and you know it," he said with the conviction that was so utterly Warrick, and she was taken aback. "The past three years have been hell. I've had to keep myself under the radar, and the only reason I knew about anything that happened in Vegas was through Grissom. I wanted to be at Lindsey's graduation, and it killed me that I couldn't go. The same for Bobby's funeral. It... sucked. And I suffered through it to keep you and everyone else I care about safe from the bastards that would do anything to get to me if they knew I was alive."

"Like go after my daughter?" He nodded, and she thought about everything he'd said. "I... think I can understand that. I'd probably do the same thing." She suddenly felt open and vulnerable knowing that there was an uncontrollable variable that put her in danger, and she didn't want to be alone. "Please stay. If someone did see you, then I'm not safe with or without you here. I'd rather have you. Two against one are better odds."

"I guess you're right."

"Oh, I know I'm right," she said bluntly. "The guest room is down the hall on the left. You know where the bathroom is. There's an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet."

He nodded and headed for the door. "Okay. Good night, Catherine."

"Good night, Warrick."


	9. Chapter 8

Try as she might, there was no more sleep that night for Catherine. She stared into the dark, forcing her thoughts away from the man in the other room. Though, due to that moment where she'd nearly fainted, that became increasingly difficult. The way it had made her feel consumed her, and just remembering the smell of him made her dizzy with arousal.

Oh, God. What was she thinking? She should be angry with Warrick. But all the old feelings she'd had for him were beginning to surface, leaving her too weak to feel contempt. Her heart ached for him, knowing that he'd wanted to reach out when his friends were hurting, but couldn't. She supposed she was being selfish. After all, he'd had to deal with a constant threat to his life for three years. She'd been blissfully ignorant of the fact that the threat extended to her until now.

She sighed, knowing there was no way she was going to stay angry. But that didn't affect the hurt she was feeling. There was no undoing the damage that three years of grieving had done. She was a broken human being, and it had been too long since she'd felt anything but numbness and anger.

Swinging her feet to the floor, Catherine rubbed her tired eyes and stretched. She'd take a long, hot bath, have a cup of coffee, and then try to sleep again. For now, she just needed to relax.

And stop thinking about Warrick.

* * *

_The flashes of gunshots. Bullets tear into Gedda, handcuffed to the barber's chair. Warrick on his knees in front of him, covered in blood. Another shot. And another. He's still covered in blood. But no more Gedda. No more barber's chair. He's in his car. A gun on the passenger seat. He's bleeding..._

The shrill ring of his cell phone tore into Warrick's nightmare. He sat up in an instant, cold with sweat, panic causing his heart to race. It was only a dream. It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last. He shook his head to clear it of sleep before he answered his phone.

"You asshole. Where is she? Where'd you tuck her away?"

It took Warrick a minute to realize who it was. "You know, I'm wondering. How'd you get my number, Gedda?"

"I have my ways. Now, where is that little slut?"

The malice in Gedda's voice was so thick that it made Warrick nauseous. "Somewhere you can't get to her, you sick fuck."

"Oh, I can get to her. I _will_ get to her. Because now I know it'll bring you out of your little hidey-hole, wherever the hell that is."

"Give it up, Gedda. You'll never get Lindsey. I'll make sure of it." He took a breath. "And you're damn right that means I'll come out of hiding." He paused. "But you won't get me either." Warrick hung up, his heart still racing. He dialed the agent that had called him earlier. When he answered, Warrick skipped the formalities. "Bring Lindsey home. She's as safe here as anywhere."

"I assure you, Mr. Brown, she's much safer-"

"Dammit, just bring her here. Nick Gedda is after her, and he has connections in every part of the government. He's a serial rapist, and he's got his sights set on Lindsey Willows. He's not going to give up until he gets what he wants. Now that's either her or me. If we're in the same place, he'll go for me first. So bring her here."

"She'll be there tomorrow night."

Warrick placed his phone back on the nightstand, heaving a sigh of relief. He stood and headed for the bathroom. He'd splash water on his face and try to relax, though the odds of that happening before Lindsey arrived were practically nil.

He padded the short distance down the hall to the bathroom and pushed the door open wide. He thought it odd that the light was on, but brushed it off. He had probably just forgotten to shut it off before he went to sleep. He walked to the sink and turned it on.

* * *

Catherine lifted her head above the water slowly. It was late, and the last thing she wanted to do was wake the man just on the other side of the wall. She settled against the back of the tub and drew a deep breath, inhaling the steam from the hot water. She saw something move out of the corner of her eye, and she lolled her head to the side to look.

Her eyes widened, and she shrieked as Warrick turned toward the tub. She barely caught the deer-in-the-headlights expression as she scrambled to grab the towel hanging next to the tub.

"Jesus, Cath, I'm sorry," he said as he turned and hurried out of the bathroom, practically slamming the door behind him.

"It's fine," Catherine called after him as she stood, though she wasn't sure if he heard. She pulled the drain plug and stepped out of the tub, dripping wet. She dried off quickly, the heat of the steam having nothing to do with the bright pink blush that had risen into her cheeks.

She was so confused. Warrick had just walked in on her in the tub, had seen her fully exposed, and she felt no sense of distress aside from the initial shock of seeing him. There should be at least a little bit of anger or... something. But there wasn't.

Instead, her thoughts dwelled on the actual _sight_ of him. He had been wearing nothing but the jeans he'd climbed through her window in, and in three years, his body had, if anything, improved. A tingle of heat in her palms spread to her entire body at the thought of the taut muscles of his stomach and chest, and the arms that had caught and held her countless times.

She took a steadying breath before she left the bathroom for her bedroom. Once there, she quickly dressed and brushed out her hair, busying herself as best she could, but no amount of activity was distracting her from the fact that she was aching for him. She dropped onto the bed, sighing in resignation.

Sookie crawled out from under the bed-her favorite place when she wasn't sleeping-and sat in front of Catherine, staring up at her questioningly. Catherine bent over and picked her up, holding the kitten close to her chest as she scratched behind her ears. Sookie purred in approval, but moments later squawked and wriggled free of Catherine's arms. She clawed at the corner of the door, a sign she wanted out of the room, which was unusual for her at this hour.

Catherine opened the door, and Sookie sprinted down the hall, stopping at the guest room door. She turned and looked back at her, silently asking, "Can I go in, Ma?"

"No, Sook. Not tonight," Catherine whispered. The kitten looked like she was glaring before she turned to the door and started clawing at the rug, scratching and pulling as if to dig her way in. "Sookie, stop that. Bad kitten."

The clawing continued, and Catherine groaned, rushing to pick up the kitten. As she straightened, kitten in her arms, the door swung open slowly. Warrick stood before her, a look of amusement that morphed into embarrassment on his face.

"Sorry. She really wanted to get in." She felt the heat flood her cheeks. She shouldn't be embarrassed: she was a grown woman, after all. But the thought of him having seen her naked left her feeling like a teenager again.

"It's okay. I like her." He reached out to Sookie, and she rubbed her head against his hand, inviting his attention. "Besides, I could use the company."

She saw the pain hidden in his eyes, and suddenly his statement took on a whole new meaning. "When you were hiding, were you ever with anyone?" He lifted an eyebrow, and she rephrased, "Did you ever stay with anyone?"

He shook his head. "I was better off alone. For the first two years, they had me in Paris. When Grissom and Sara moved there, he would visit every once in a while. But since Sara didn't know right away, it wasn't too often. Eventually she figured it out, and they'd both visit once a week, but they had to be careful. It was too dangerous for them and for me. So most of the time it was just me."

"And you were okay with that?" she asked. Sookie squawked when Warrick's hand dropped back to his side, and she escaped Catherine's arms and ran into the guest room, hiding under the bed. "Dammit. I'll get her," she huffed as he walked past him into the room.

"Don't worry about it. She can stay." He sighed heavily, and she stopped to look at him. "And no, I wasn't okay with it, but I had to be. It was fine at first, but then the nightmares started."

"Nightmares?" He looked away, and she reached up to gently turn his head back to face her. "You can tell me, Warrick. Three years of thinking you were dead never changed the fact that you're my friend."

He gave her a sad smile. "They were about Joanna. And Gedda. And everything else fucked up that happened up until I had to disappear. I still have them. And they still scare the hell out of me." He shuddered. "The worst was the one I had about Eli. I barely remember it, but I know he died. I woke up crying, because I was so sure it was real. It was only after an hour or so that I realized I hadn't seen my son in over a year and a half, and I couldn't know if he was dead. Grissom had never been able to tell me anything about Tina or Eli."

"That's because Tina moved to South Carolina." He stared at her, shocked, and she looked away. "We started talking at your funeral. We'd both lost a husband-well, ex-husband-and I just wanted her to know she wasn't alone." She met his eyes with a gaze that held everything she felt for him, then and now. "Despite the resentment I'd felt toward her."

"I..." He just stared as he read her eyes, and he frowned. "I don't know what to say. A couple hours ago you hated my guts, Cath. And now... now I just don't know."

She sighed and dropped the hand that was resting lazily on his cheek. "I never hated you. I was angry, upset, but it didn't last. With you, it never does." She turned and headed for the door. "I'm gonna go back to bed. I'll see-"

"Wait," he said, grasping her arm gently. A spark of electricity shot through her at his touch, and she gasped. He turned her to face him, and she felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs when she saw the expression on his face. Sheer lust. Plain and simple. "Stay."

"Warrick, I-"

He kissed her, hard, and any protest she'd been ready to make was lost. They broke the kiss as he lifted her shirt over her head, and Catherine inhaled sharply as his hand cupped her breast. At that moment, she was truly lost in him. That scent that had so captivated her. The feel of the muscles that had sparked a purely animalistic reaction in her.

At that moment, Catherine forgot about everything but Warrick Brown.


	10. Chapter 9

Lindsey Willows glided to the space that she had cleared to perform, the remote of the stereo in her hand. She pressed play, and the acoustic strumming of Iris flowed from the speakers. Tossing the remote on the bed, she turned out her feet in fifth position. When the vocals began, she spread her arms to the side, pointing her right leg out in front of her in a tendu, leading effortlessly into a plié. She repeated the movement with her left leg, all the while moving forward. After repeating the steps, she reversed the moves with a fluidity that most dancers at her level envied. The only freshman to make it into the Harvard Ballet Company when she auditioned after first arriving at school, she was looked on with contempt by most of the girls that had been denied yet another chance at reaching their dream.

A knock at the door startled her, causing her to lose balance and fall flat on her butt mid-pirouette. "Ow," she mumbled as the door opened. With the dresser half blocking the door, the inevitable thud of someone colliding with it sounded. She cringed. "Are you okay?"

"I think so," came the deep voice of the agent on the other side. "Crap."

"What? Are you bleeding?"

"Yes, a bit. I'll be right back." The voice held the slightest hint of an accent.

Lindsey frowned. She hadn't expected anyone to come to the door. Usually people left her alone when her music was playing. Of course, these people were wild cards: FBI agents. None of them knew her stress relief ritual. She walked to the dresser and pushed it back so she could slip out the door.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked the man holding a handful of toilet paper to his injured nose when she entered the bathroom.

He nodded. "It's not broken. Just going to be a little bruised." Her frown deepened, and the agent smiled reassuringly. "It's fine, Miss Willows. No real harm done."

"I guess not." She thought for a moment, then asked, "What's your name? It seems all of you know my name, but I know none of yours."

"Special Agent Cameron Drake, at your service," he said with a flamboyant bow. While bent low, he placed a soft kiss to the back of her hand as he took it in his. He straightened and shrugged in response to her baffled stare. "I'm British... and I acted in university."

She felt her cheeks flush, but she ignored it. "It's nice to meet you, Cameron. Now, I have another question." He raised one of his dark eyebrows in question. "Why have I been dragged to East Bumblefuck, USA by half a dozen FBI agents, when I know damn well I didn't do anything wrong?"

He shook his head. "Miss Will-"

"Call me Lindsey. You can be as British as you want, but formalities piss me off."

"Okay, _Lindsey_. It's not my place." He held a hand up to stop her protest. "You're not the only stubborn person here. I'm not going to tell you."

She glared at him. "How do I know I'm not going to be snuffed out?"

"Well, the FBI doesn't usually handle 'snuffing'. That's the CIA's job." Her eyes widened. "Alright, look. The reason I came to you tonight is because we have orders to bring you back to Las Vegas. The higher ups have reason to believe you'll be safer there."

"I doubt that." She sighed and headed for her room. "Whatever, I'll go pack."

"Mi-I mean, Lindsey." She turned to him at the threshold of the bedroom. "You'll be happy to know that I'll be accompanying you on the trip, and will be guarding your mother's home."

"Oh yeah, I'm just thrilled," she replied sarcastically, closing the door. Her hand still tingled where he had pressed his lips. At nineteen, her mother would be more than shocked that her daughter was still a virgin. But the blush that rose to her cheeks and the heat that flooded through her were still foreign to her.

Shaking it off, she pulled her suitcase out of the closet. Whatever these feelings were, she'd just have to deal with them. Right now, she had to focus on getting to Las Vegas.

And why the hell she was going there.


	11. Chapter 10

A faint knock invaded her subconscious, pulling Catherine out of the first fitful sleep she'd had in months. She ignored it, turning over and laying her arm across the chest of the man next to her. There was no moment she could recall that was as perfect as this one. Warrick Brown, alive and well, asleep next to her.

"Hey," came his low baritone, thick with sleep.

She smiled. "Hey."

"Who's at the door?"

"No idea. I'm ignoring it. It couldn't be that important." She nuzzled her head into the hollow of his shoulder, breathing deeply to capture his scent. Suddenly, her cell phone screamed from her bedroom, and she groaned. "And I'm ignoring that too."

He lifted her chin and placed a light kiss on her lips. "Fine with me."

As the moment began to heat up, the knocking became more fervent, and the cell phone continued to blare. Catherine struggled, but ignoring it became a lost cause, and she looked at the clock.

"Whoever this is, they better have a damn good reason to be showing up at this hour." She got out of bed and collected her clothes, heat rushing to her cheeks as she felt Warrick's gaze on her nude form. "Knock it off."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She threw her shirt at him, realizing her mistake as he grinned. "Can I have my shirt back?"

"Come and get it," he coaxed, only receiving a glare in response.

"Forget it." Her voice was light, a sign she was joking, and the mischief in Warrick's expression melted away at her smile.

He tossed the shirt back to her. "You owe me."

"Oh, don't worry," she said with a sly smile. "I'll definitely pay up."

After dressing in her room, Catherine answered the relentlessly ringing cell phone on her nightstand.

"Mom, how long are you gonna make me wait out here? It's _freezing_." Lindsey's teeth chattered audibly over the line.

"I'll be right there, Sweetie." Catherine was baffled as she tossed the phone on the bed. What was Lindsey doing in Vegas?

When she walked into the hall, Warrick was standing, fully clothed, in the doorway of the guest room. "Who was on the phone?"

"Lindsey. She's outside." She thought for a minute. "I think you should wait in the guest room. She may think she's seeing a ghost."

"Can you handle explaining everything?" he asked, a hint of concern woven into the comforting tone of his voice.

"Yeah. How hard could it be?" He nodded and stepped back into the room, closing the door behind him. She took a deep breath and continued down the hall to the living room, and then to the front door. She unlocked it and pulled it open.

"About time!" Lindsey exclaimed, practically jumping on Catherine to embrace her tightly. "I was almost an icicle!"

"It's not _that_ cold, Linds. It can't be nearly as bad as Cambridge."

"I guess not. I just expected Vegas to be warm, so I dressed for it." She step back and gestured to her attire. She was wearing a denim skirt that reached just above the knees, a pale pink T-shirt covered with a white cashmere button up sweater, and her long red hair was pulled back in a classic ponytail.

"You lived here for eighteen years. You should know winters here are unpredictable." Lindsey was looking past her, and Catherine turned to see what she was staring at. The light in the guest room was on, and Lindsey knew all the lights were turned off unless someone was in the room.

"Is somebody here, Mom?" Catherine nodded, taking a deep breath to prepare herself. "Who? Do I know him?"

"Yeah. You know him really well, actually."

"Is it Nick? I thought he was seeing that print analyst, Mandy."

"He is, and no, it's not Nick." She held up her hand as Lindsey went to continue guessing. "Listen, this is going to be hard for you to believe, but then again it wasn't easy for me either."

Catherine went and sat on the couch, patting the spot next to her. "What is it?" Lindsey asked as she sat down.

"It's..." Her voice faltered, and she took a moment to collect herself. "It's Warrick. He's alive."

* * *

He paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair as he waited. Warrick was more than anxious. As grateful as he was that Lindsey was here, safe and sound, he had no idea how she'd react. She'd only been sixteen when Warrick had 'died'. She'd still been mourning the loss of her father, rebelling against her mother every chance she got. He only had a vague idea of the woman she'd become, so he had no idea how she would react to him still being alive.

He whirled on the door when it flew open, bouncing back as it reached the limit of its hinges. Lindsey stood framed in the doorway as she caught the swinging door, her expression a mixture of stunned disbelief and anger._Crap_, Warrick thought as she started toward him.

"You son of a bitch!" Her hand connected with his cheek, and he felt a sudden sense of déjà vu. _Like mother, like daughter_, he mused. He didn't say anything. He just stared past Lindsey to Catherine, whose expression of helplessness to control her daughter was betrayed by the inability to contain her laughter at the coincidence. "How could you _do_ this to us. You were like a dad to me. Do you have _any_ idea what I went through?"

He didn't speak. He _couldn't_ speak. She had thrown him a curve ball. Not only was she defending her mother against what he'd done, but she was admitting the pain it had caused her. _You were like a dad to me_. His heart clenched with guilt, and he stared mournfully at the beautiful young woman in front of him.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, or are you just gonna stand there like a deer caught in the headlights?"

"I-I-" he stumbled, and he dragged his hand over his face, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I'm so sorry, Lindsey. It's like I told your mom. It sucked, but it was all I could do to keep you guys safe. I loved you guys."

She stared at him, eyes blazing. After a moment, her gaze softened. "I guess I believe you. But don't think you're off the hook. I'm still pissed." She turned and pushed gently past her mother, and the sound of her bedroom door slamming signaled that Warrick and Catherine were alone once again.

"I think I should go back to my room for now. It'll be way too much for her to see us together today. We'll tell her tomorrow." Catherine smiled apologetically. "She and I have changed a lot since you saw us last. We're closer now."

"I can see that," Warrick said softly, rubbing his cheek. "And I'm lucky she didn't punch me. She must have one hell of a right hook."

She grinned. "Like mother, like daughter."

He laughed quietly as she voiced his thoughts from earlier. "You read my mind."


	12. Chapter 11

They'd gotten away. He'd underestimated the bastard. When Brown was determined, he could sure get things done. Good for him, bad for Gedda. It seemed like everything was working against Gedda. He hurled a lamp at the wall in frustration. Son of a bitch! This was the last time Brown would get the best of him.

He checked his watch. Eight thirty. He'd call his FBI contact, see if he couldn't figure out where they'd brought that little Willows bitch. Not that she was important. If he knew anything about Warrick Brown, it was that when it came to crunch time, he took matters into his own hands.

And that meant wherever Lindsey Willows was, Brown was.

* * *

Nick Stokes sat at the examination table, pouring over a shattered vase that was most likely used to knock out the victim in his case. With any luck, once he got it back together, there would be a print or two to lead him to his killer. His back began to ache dully, a sign that he'd been there longer than he'd realized. He leaned back, twisting in each direction until he heard a soft pop--temporary relief to a long lasting issue. Just as he was about to begin his tedious task once more, his pager shattered the silence with a message from Mandy.

_Got a hit on the handprint._

He stood, catching a glimpse of Greg ambling by the room. "Hey, Greggo. Do me a favor?"

Greg groaned. "What now?"

"Just keep goin' on this vase from the crime scene for me. I have to check on somethin' for Catherine." Greg gave a 'do I have to' look, and Nick chuckled. "Ten minutes. I promise."

"Fine." Nick turned and started walking away, letting out a quiet chuckle as Greg called out, "Any longer and I'll break it apart piece by piece!"

He entered the print lab, and his grin disappeared at the look on Mandy's face. "Jeez, Mandy. It looks like you saw a ghost." The frown twisting her features deepened, and he sobered completely, all humor gone. "Mandy?"

She looked at him, tears brimming behind her lenses. She moved her lips to speak, but closed them just as quickly when words failed her. She simply handed Nick the sheet of paper she held in her white knuckled fist, and he held her hand for a moment after she released the paper.

He took one last look at her pained expression before moving his gaze to the paper. His eyes widened as the name hit home. _Shit_.

Rushing out of the print lab, he made a bee line for the locker room. He whipped out his cell phone and dialed eratically, miraculously hitting the correct keys on the first go round. The phone rang, and Nick waited impatiently for the woman on the other end to answer. As soon as she did, he said, "We got a hit on the print we got off your car."

"And?" Catherine urged when he paused.

"You're never gonna believe this." He shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around it. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Try me."

He sighed. "It belongs to Nick Gedda." A sharp intake of breath sounded over the line. "Yeah. Mandy's still in shock. I had to send her home. The dayshift print tech agreed to come in early." The last bit of information was reflex, explaining to the boss that he had everything under control. Catherine remained silent. "What the hell is going on, Cath? You're being stalked by a rapist."

The line was silent, then, "How's the case load tonight?"

He furrowed his brow at the abrupt change of subject. "Uh... one homicide, and a B and E. Ray's on the B & E with the transfer from Florida, and Greg and I are working the homicide. Why?"

"Can you call in someone from days to cover you? There's something I have to tell--well, show--you, so it's better you're here in person."

"I'll see what I can do." He disconnected, shoving his phone in his pocket. He started back to the exam room, one thought on his mind.

_Greg is gonna _kill_ me._


	13. Chapter 12

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway was Catherine's first sign that Nick had been able to get a replacement. She had left Warrick in the kitchen as he leaned against the counter, the faint glimmer of regret the only emotion his features betrayed. She only wished she could be half as calm. Lindsey's reaction had been expected, if not a little extreme. She could only imagine how Nick--Warrick's best friend--would react.

The knock at the door was her second sign, and as Carns--the burly agent that stood guard--went to open it, she tensed. Was this really the best way to tell Nick? She clutched the packet of photos in her hand firmly, watching as Nick presented the ID the agent required to allow him into the home. Carns stepped aside to let Nick pass over the threshold.

She smiles tentatively, opting not to be the first to speak. Lindsey, who was sitting beside Catherine on the couch, placed her arm around Catherine's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Hey, Cath," he said, his gaze shifting between the two women. "I'm surprised to see you, Linds. I thought you were stranded at Harvard?"

"I thought so, too," Lindsey responded curtly, a result of her mood. She motioned to the three agents in the room. "I got dragged back to Vegas by these guys."

"I resent that." The man who spoke was a young, dark haired agent. Despite his relaxed position as he sat in the easy chair, every muscle breathed readiness and alertness. "There was no 'dragging' you anywhere. You came by your own volition, and you know it."

"Oh, shut up, Drake."

The young man's eyes widened imperceptibly, and he chuckled. "As you wish, Mi--Lindsey."

Catherine fixed a puzzled glance on her daughter, and the young woman only shrugged in response. She returned her attention to Nick, an equally confused expression contorting his features.

"Is anyone gonna tell me what's going on? Why are there a bunch of FBI agents guarding your house like Fort Knox?" Nick's frustration was plain in his voice.

"In a minute," Catherine answered. She held out the envelope containing the incriminating photos. "First, you should look at these."

"What are they?" he asked, taking the envelope from her.

"Pictures." She braced herself. "I found them in the front seat of my car, on the pile of broken glass." Before he could voice his disbelief at her actions, she said, "I know, I know. I tampered with evidence. But this is part of something bigger. My car getting busted apart is pretty trivial in comparison."

"What are you talking about?"

She motioned to the envelope in his hand. "Look at those. They explain most of it."

He stared at her for another minute before he opened the envelope, flipping through the pictures slowly, pain flitting across his face at the first few, then confusion. He'd reached the ones of Warrick and Grissom. He shook his head, and the uncertainty was clear in his expression.

"What do these even mean?" he asked.

"Look at the date on the ones of Warrick and Grissom." He complied, flipping through until he came to the photos in question. Shock followed by anger lit his face, and a faint flush spread to his cheeks. Even a moron could see he was pissed.

"How long have you known?" The question was spoken through gritted teeth.

"I found out after Gedda vandalized my car, when I was going through the pictures."

"Why the hell did you wait until now to tell me?" She could sense the effort it was taking for him not to yell in the timber of his voice.

"Because I barely believed it myself. I didn't even see the picture of them together until I got home." She looked him dead in the eye. "It's been three years. It was hard to accept that Grissom had lied to any of us for that long. I had to find out for sure."

"And?" He had relaxed slightly, but the bunched muscles in his jaw proved he was still angry as all hell.

She relayed everything to him in as much detail as she could: her trip to Pahrump, her conversations with Grissom and Brass, carefully omitting anything that involved her impromptu reunion with Warrick.

He was silent, and she could hear the gears grinding as he tried to wrap his head around it all. Finally, he asked, "So how does Nick Gedda factor into any of this?"

Catherine looked away, trying to find the best way to reveal what Warrick had told her. Before she could speak, though, she heard, "I'll tell him, Cath."

* * *

Warrick stepped into the room, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. And rightly so. After Catherine's and Lindsey's initial reactions to his presence, he had every right to prepare himself against another possible physical response. Especially with Nick Stokes.

Nick flushed scarlet, and Warrick could practically see the steam shooting from his ears and nostrils in a cartoonesque display of rage. But beyond the anger in his eyes, he saw something not entirely unexpected: relief and happiness.

"Why?" Nick asked, once again speaking through clenched teeth.

Warrick sighed. "If I hadn't done this, I would've put everyone I cared about in danger. Gedda's goons were gonna come after me, whether or not I killed the son of a bitch. After you killed McKeen, it got even hotter. At that point, though, pretty much everyone was convinced I was dead, so they eventually stopped caring. The only one that couldn't let it go was Nick Gedda. But he didn't get the chance to prove I wasn't dead right away, because I ran to Paris. It was only this year that he started to catch on.

"Somebody in the FBI leaked that I was alive. Because they have no idea who it was, they brought me back to the states so they could keep a closer eye on me." He looked away. "They said to stay away from Vegas, but I couldn't. I found my way back here without being seen, because I needed to make sure everyone was safe. I didn't trust anyone with that but myself.

"When I found out Gedda was targeting Catherine, I realized my plan to keep everyone safe was failing. So I'm taking matters into my own hands. That's why I'm here now." He fixed his gaze back on Nick, taking a step closer to him. "I know you probably hate my guts right now, and I don't blame you. But you gotta realize I was only trying to do what I could to keep you guys safe."

Nick didn't say a word. He only glared at Warrick, his breath coming harsh and quick. The restraint he was showing was holding on by an invisible thread, and Warrick had to force himself not to look away again. Slowly, though, Nick's breathing evened out, and the tension in his muscles ebbed. The anger was still there, but more controlled despite the continuing intensity.

"I just don't understand why you couldn't tell us. It makes no sense," Nick finally said, his voice shaking.

"Look at what Gedda did to Catherine, just because he thought she knew? It would've only gotten worse. I'd hoped that if you really didn't know, no one would bother you." The corners of his lips lifted in the smallest of smiles. "Shows what I know, huh?"

Nick stared for a moment, then, surprisingly, he returned the smile. "Yeah. You were never too bright."

Warrick made a rude noise, brushing off the insult. "Pot calling the kettle, Nicky."

The smile spread into a wide grin on Nick's face, and he punched Warrick good-naturedly on the arm in a show of friendship--one that Warrick never thought he'd experience again. No more words were exchanged for a good five minutes, as the full weight of the reunion hit home for everyone.

Unexpectedly, Nick pulled Warrick into an embrace, one of strong friendship. "I missed you, man," Nick said, his voice thick with emotion. The uncharacteristic display rocked Warrick to his core, and it took all his willpower not to choke up.

"I missed you too."

The two men stepped back, and a momentary sense of awkwardness followed. Then, suddenly, everyone, including the agents, burst into a fit of laughter. Warrick relished in it. God, it felt good to laugh again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done it with quite so much sincerity.

And for now, he could ignore the fact that it wasn't going to last.


	14. Chapter 13

Greg Sanders stared at the clock, trying to intimidate it into moving faster. There was no use. The hands continued their horrendously slow ticking, and it took everything in his quickly waning willpower to continue putting together the vase Nick had dumped on him. An hour had passed since his partner had left, and he'd only been able to connect about half a dozen more pieces to the seemingly endless puzzle.

As the minutes dragged, Greg pushed along, holding piece after jagged piece under the microscope, comparing the striae until he found a match. Once he did, he photographed it, then applied only a smidge of glue to the piece and attached it to its rightful place on the ruined vase.

Though only half of it was repaired, he'd already discovered the impact point where it had shattered against the victim's skull. He turned his complete attention to that specific area. Thankfully, the solid, reddish-brown color of the clay had given way to a swirling pattern of black spirals and twisting lines, creating a spidery design around the circumference of the vase. It would have been beautiful if not for the cracks that marred the surface. The only thing that mattered, though, was that the pattern gave him an idea of what piece to look for.

After another painstaking hour of work that left his lower back with a dull ache, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and put it on speaker, continuing his work despite the interruption. "Sanders."

"Hey, Greg." Catherine. Why was she calling? "I need you to do something."

"And that is?" he asked absently, plucking a lone hair from one of the pieces and securing it in a bindle.

"Tell everyone there'll be a meeting at six am." She paused, and he heard someone speak in the background. "I'll take care of that," she said to the person who spoke, then said to Greg, "Also, set up a conference call with Hodges, Wendy, and Henry."

He sat back, picking up the phone and switching it off speaker. "What's going on, Cath?"

"Something big. Just make sure you get ahold of as many people as possible. It should be around nine in North Carolina when you call, so you should be able to get ahold of Hodges and Wendy pretty easy. Henry might be harder."

"I'll do my best," he replied, holding back the 'that's what she said' joke out of respect for his superior and Henry. He disconnected, knowing he'd have to set aside the vase to do as Catherine asked.

After returning everything to the evidence locker, Greg checked his watch. Five thirty. He didn't have much time. Hurrying to gather up all the lab techs and CSIs, he continued to wonder why he was doing it. Catherine had said it was big, whatever _it _was.

He shrugged to himself. Greg would just do as he was told, because that was all he _could_ do. He pulled out his phone and dialed Henry.

* * *

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Catherine asked Brass, who had called her abruptly and told her to set up the meeting at the lab. "Two days ago, you were content with none of us knowing. Now you want everyone to know?"

"Look, Cath," he started, the cop in him coming out full force. "They're gonna find out one way or another. Gedda is unpredictable. Right now, he's focused on Lindsey as his means to an end, but that could change any time. He's been hunting Warrick for two years, and God only knows who he thinks matters."

"Who do you think he could go after, if his focus shifts from Lindsey?" Part of her knew the answer that would come, but she needed to hear it from him.

"You, for one. Tina and Eli would normally be Gedda's first target, but they'd disappeared into oblivion long before he'd started his search for Warrick."

"Not completely," Warrick chimed in. "Apparently she and Catherine kept in touch after my funeral. He may have some idea where they are, but since Tina didn't take my name when we got married, it's doubtful."

Brass gave Catherine a sidelong glance that showed his curiosity, but he didn't voice it. "In any case, he seems to have taken an interest in the Willows clan. But he could target anybody from the old team. Grissom and Sara are possible targets, as well as Greg. You too, Nick," he added, with a backward gesture to the man sitting behind him. "And since we know he has a tendency to go after an extension of his target, that puts Mandy in danger, too. There are FBI agents positioned outside your apartment," Brass continued, smothering the budding worry that was clear in Nick's face before it could fully manifest. "They're going to follow Mandy back to the lab."

"Good," Nick said, his voice a little unsure. "She sounded better than she did when I sent her home, but that's probably not gonna last after this."

There was a pause before Brass began again. "The FBI also stationed agents at Henry's place, and a pair of agents was sent to North Carolina. It wasn't completely necessary, though. Of everyone, Hodges and Wendy are probably the safest. They're the only ones that could be on Gedda's radar that aren't anywhere near Las Vegas."

Catherine sighed dejectedly, her wariness growing. She knew personally that distance from danger didn't always mean complete security. Her daughter's predicament was proof of that. Catherine kept trying to convince herself that Lindsey was safe back at the house--there were three trained agents guarding her, making her practically untouchable.

That didn't mean she was totally safe.

She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to punch the dashboard. She couldn't lose her control. She may have been pushed beyond her normal limits, but that didn't make the situation completely hopeless. She just needed to turn the tables so they were in her favor.

But how?


	15. Chapter 14

Turning the faucet off, Lindsey handed the last of the dishes to Drake to be dried. He wiped it down, and she glanced at his hands. A jagged scar stretched from the space between his thumb and forefinger to the back of his hand, then traveled up his forearm until it disappeared beneath his rolled up sleeve.

"What's that from?" she asked, pointing to the unusually long scar.

A shadow clouded his normally glittering tea green eyes. As quickly as it had appeared, however, it disappeared. "Oh, nothing. I was in a rather nasty accident in uni. I can't exactly remember what happened... was smashed at the time."

Confusion rippled through her when he grinned impishly. She knew he was lying, and that he knew exactly what happened to cause that scar. But the fact that he seemed to have brushed the topic aside almost immediately meant that he wasn't about to be straight with her. She let it go: it was none of her business, anyway.

"Do you have any scars?"

"None that you can see," she answered without thinking. The question had come out of nowhere, and Lindsey had been taken aback. She caught his raised eyebrow and rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. Some scars don't show on the surface."

He searched her eyes with an inquisitive stare that left Lindsey uneasy. It was a moment before he looked away, and another long moment before he said anything. "I do believe you're right."

She shook her head to clear it. This situation was just plain awkward, and it left Lindsey with her foot in her mouth. She deserved it for putting her nose where it didn't belong. Why did she even ask him about that stupid scar? She didn't even know him. She had no business asking Cameron Drake anything personal.

It didn't matter: she'd just pretend it didn't happen.

Lindsey moved to the far side of the counter and grabbed the empty carafe, deciding that making coffee would be a wonderful distraction from the uncomfortable scene that was unfolding.

"I'm curious," Drake began, his tone pensive. She braced herself. His curiosity always left her with a headache. "How are things going with that boyfriend of yours?"

_So much for distracting myself_, she thought with a pang of disappointment. She fixed her comtemptuous gaze on his eyes. "What's it to you?"

He flashed her a lopsided grin. "As I said, I'm only curious."

"Right." She lifted a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "They aren't." He looked confused. "We broke up a couple months ago. It wasn't a big deal. The distance was just too much for us."

"Uh huh." His gaze was distinctly contemplative. "Well, it seems to me the relationship was a lost cause from the beginning." He held his hands up in surrender at her defensive glare. "I'm just saying. If it was meant to work, you'd have found a way to cope with the distance."

Her anger faded, and she realized he was right. "I don't know why you care. We hardly know each other."

"I know you better than you think." A sly grin touched his lips. "I always request a dossier when I'm assigned to protect someone. It gives me extra incentive to do the best job possible... most of the time."

She was about to question his last statement when a creak sounded from the hall that led to the bedrooms, and she stiffened. Save for Drake, the agents had gone outside to keep watch for any sign of Gedda. She would have heard one of them come inside, and as far as she knew, no one had.

She looked to Drake, who was gazing past her to the kitchen's only entrance. Lindsey's voice shook when she spoke. "What was that?"

"I don't know. Probably just the cat." He eyed her momentarily, then understanding lit his face. "I'll go check it out." He removed his gun from the holster at his hip and slipped silently around the corner, disappearing into the darkness.

The silence swallowed her, leaving her with an overwhelming sense of loneliness and uneasiness. The minutes stretched by excrutiatingly slow, and it only added to her discomfort. God, she hoped it was nothing.

A lamp crashed to the floor in the hallway!

She started for the doorway, hesitating only to go back for a knife to protect herself. The sound of a body being thrown against the wall urged her to move faster. She entered the hallway, and in the darkness she noted two forms struggling with each other. Lindsey was able to identify Drake immediately by his long, thin form. The other man was nearly a full head shorter, with a thicker build that was bordering on overweight.

Lindsey made a move for the two men, the knife gripped firmly in her hand. But before she could attack, the gun went off. Both men went still as the gun fell to the floor, but it was Drake who slid to the floor along with it.

When the intruder turned his attention to her, she struggled to push away the shock and took the offensive. She ran at the stranger, tightening her fingers around the handle of the knife in a relentless grip. The man reacted slowly, and the blade entered his side. Her hand slipped, and the blade sliced her palm painfully, and she bit back the cry as she retracted the blade.

It didn't stop him. Lindsey ducked, narrowly evading him as he attempted to tackle her. She rushed down the hall, throwing the door closed behind her when she entered her mother's room. Before she had a chance to hide, the door swung open to reveal the heaving form of her attacker. He came at her full force, and she stumbled when she moved to get out of his way. She wasn't able to move her arm out of the way in time, and the knife cut into her forearm.

Ignoring the pain, she rolled over to find the man moving toward her. When he was close enough, she kicked the intruder in the balls, eliciting a grunt as he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. She sat up, staring at the man for a moment before standing and leaving the room.

She walked over to the injured agent sitting up against the wall. She knelt beside him, examining him closely in the dim light from the kitchen. A dark stain spread at the top of his shoulder, and she realized with relief that it was only a shoulder wound.

"You okay?" Drake asked, coming back to himself quickly. He waved off Lindsey's assistance as he stood.

"I'm fine. I'm not the one who got shot." She touched his shoulder delicately, the warmth of the blood sending a chill through her. "Does it hurt?"

"Only a bit. I'll heal." He flinched as he reached to pick up his gun. "Eventually." He paused. "You're bleeding."

She flinched as Drake reached out to touch the long cut on her arm. "It's only a flesh wound." She half-smiled at him. "I'll heal."

"We should probably clean up." He glanced at the bedroom. "But I'm going to check on our guest, first. You go tell the other agents what happened. Though from your little brouhaha, I'm surprised they haven't come in already."

"Brouhaha?" she asked, smiling wide despite herself.

"Yes. Brouhaha. I'd blame my being from England, but I'd be lying. And I don't like to lie... much." He grinned, and Lindsey couldn't help but chuckle in response. He turned for the bedroom. "Go. Tell the other guys. I'll meet you in the kitchen."

She watched him walk away, then turned for the front door. The men had said they'd be waiting in the shadows by the door, so as not to be seen by anybody they didn't want seeing them. She opened the door and stepped outside. The cool air felt good against her flushed skin, and she breathed it in deep before checking for the agents.

No one was there.

Lindsey considered searching for them, but thought better of it. There was no telling what lay in the darkness. She wasn't about to risk her neck after her encounter with that attacker. She turned and walked back into the house, heading immediately for the kitchen.

She jumped when the bedroom door opened, relaxing immediately when Drake appeared in the doorway. "I went outside, but the agents weren't where they said they'd be. Where do you-" she broke off at the look on his face. "What is it?"

He motioned stiffly to the bedroom. "He's gone."


	16. Chapter 15

Greg looked on warily as Grissom walked into the break room, followed closely by Nick and Brass. Nick was carrying a case file in his hand, and Brass had his hands clasped in front of him.

Grissom looked grim, and it didn't help that his two companions looked equally bleak. Greg looked past them to the hall, where Catherine and Sara stood, their expressions mirroring the men standing before the group gathered around him.

The voices of the crowd that had been ringing in Greg's ears for thirty minutes suddenly grew quiet, a sign that Grissom's presence had been noticed. Greg immediately dialed the phone, connecting with Hodges and Wendy almost immediately, but struggled to get Henry into the conversation as well. After a moment, he gave up and dialed Henry's cell phone, putting it on speaker before placing it on the table with the office phone.

"Is everything all set, Greg?" Grissom was watching him, his expression the same as when he'd walked in.

"Yeah," he said quickly.

"Hodges, Wendy, Henry, can all of you hear me?" Grissom said, enunciating each word without the condescension that normally accompanied it.

"Loud and clear, Gris," came Wendy's voice.

The men rattled off similar answers, and the room fell silent once more.

"All of you are probably wondering why I'm here," Grissom began, his gaze shifting around the room. Greg knew what he was doing: reading everyone's face to find the best way to go about saying what he was there to say. Greg had seen him do it dozens of times with suspects. "A few days ago, someone vandalized Catherine's car. Nick processed the car for anything they may have left behind."

"I dusted the driver's door for prints," Nick interjected, passing the folder over to one of the new lab techs, who opened it to view the contents. "I found a full handprint to the left of a carving the suspect etched into the door. I brought it to Mandy to run as soon as she got a chance. She got a hit almost immediately."

"Who did it belong to?" Ray Langston asked, flipping through the folder that was now in his possession. Greg hadn't known if Catherine wanted him to involve Ray, but he'd asked him to come, just in case.

Nick glimpsed at Ray quickly, then returned his gaze to the crowd. "Nick Gedda."

The room began to buzz with quiet chatter, the shock of the announcement sinking in. Greg remained silent, confusion overwhelming him.

What did all of this even mean?

"For those of you who weren't with the lab," Grissom started, "three and a half years ago, Warrick Brown--one of our CSIs at the time--became involved with a very dangerous man: Lou Gedda. Gedda used the strip club he owned to cover up some nasty secrets. We had no evidence to prove any of it, so the case went cold.

"Warrick started investigating the case on his own, getting more and more obsessed with finding proof to take Gedda down. Unfortunately, he got too involved, and Gedda used a homeless man to attempt to frame Warrick for murder. Joanna Krumsky was found dead in Warrick's truck, and because of some bad decisions, the case didn't seem likely to turn out in his favor.

"After a two week suspension, Warrick came back to the lab, and seemed to have given up on Gedda. A month a half later, though, Gedda was murdered, and Warrick was found at the scene, barely conscious. Once again, he had been framed, this time by Daniel Pritchard. He was a dirty cop that turned out to be a hired hand for Jeffrey McKeen, the undersheriff at the time.

"I want you all to understand that what we did next was to keep everyone safe. The less people who knew about it, the better, because it couldn't be used against any of you. Unfortunately, a wild card entered the situation, leaving everyone at risk."

"What are you talking about? What don't we know? And how does Nick Gedda figure into all of this?" The words rushed from Greg's lips, the confusion plain in his voice.

"He wants revenge for his father's death," Grissom said simply.

"Pritchard and McKeen are dead," Greg stated. "Who could he possibly be targeting that would put any of us in danger?"

Waving to Catherine and Sara, Grissom turned back to Greg. "I think it would be better if I just showed you."

Heaving a sigh of frustration, Greg simply stared at his former boss incredulously. It was only when the door to the break room opened that he looked away, and without thinking, he practically shouted, "What the _fuck_?"

* * *

Catherine remained outside the break room as Warrick entered, flinching when Greg let out an exclamation that represented his surprise. She searched the faces of the crowd, and while some were frozen with shock, Ray Langston and Michelle Traweek--the newest CSI--looked on in confusion, along with the lab techs that recently joined the lab.

"Could either of you explain to me why Greg Sanders is shouting? They probably heard him over in Pahrump." Catherine whirled to see Conrad Ecklie walking down the hall, his face contorted in a look of surprise and professional curiosity.

"Ah, um..." Catherine stammered. Her normal eloquence was absent, and she shook her head to clear it. When it did nothing to bring order to her jumbled thoughts, she simply gestured to the break room with a surprisingly steady hand.

"What's this all about, Catherine?"

He fixed her with a perplexed glare, and she sighed in resignation. "Just look. It's better that way. I'll just stumble over any explanation I try to give you."

Eyeing Catherine warily, Ecklie passed her and Sara slowly. He pulled opened the door to the break room, his gaze still fixed on Catherine, only looking away when he crossed the threshold into the room.

"How do you think he's going to react?" Sara asked, a shadow of a grin touching her thin lips.

"Honestly?" Catherine asked, turning to her companion. Uncertainty creased lines into her smooth skin. "I have no idea."

* * *

"What the hell is going on here?"

Grissom held back the groan that was threatening to release at the familiar voice echoing from behind him. "Hello, Conrad." He turned and came face to face with an almost frightened looking undersheriff. It was the first time Grissom had seen something other than pompous satisfaction in Ecklie's expression since the investigation into Warrick's 'death'.

It was a moment before Ecklie spoke again. "Either I'm seeing a ghost, or a CSI that's been dead three years has mysteriously come back to life." He echoed his words from earlier, "What the hell is going on?"

"Well, if you had been here on time, you would know what was going on, wouldn't you?" Grissom stifled a chuckle at the expressions of incredulity and impatience warring on Ecklie's face as he struggled for a response. When it looked as if the climax of the battle was ready to explode--no doubt leading to some inane retort--Grissom delved into a cliff notes version of the speech he'd just given to the rest of the room.

Greg sat silently, sure his anger was clear on his face. He didn't get angry often, but at the moment, he was steaming pissed. He didn't hear what Grissom said to them when he diverted his attention from Ecklie. He simply stared at Warrick, resisting the urge to cry out, scream until he was blue in the face, or simply kill the bastard himself.

No... no, that was the last thing he wanted to do. Wave after wave of relief was washing over him at the sight of his old friend, dousing the flames of subdued ire into flickering embers of frustration.

Within moments, everyone started shuffling around him, and he realized that Grissom had exited into the hallway to join Catherine and Sara. Their faces showed solemnity and concern as they stared into the break room. Catherine looked at Greg, giving him an apologetic half smile, and the last of his resentment faded away.

When he looked around to the people who had remained in the room, he saw Brass, Nick, Mandy, and Archie gathered around Warrick. A few feet behind the rest, he saw Ray and Michelle, and he wondered what had made them stay. They simply stayed back in the shadows, watching as the other five reunited with their lost colleague and friend.

Realizing he was one of those five, Greg forced himself to take a deep breath, then walked over to Warrick.


	17. Chapter 16

When the doctor finished stitching the gash on her forearm, Lindsey relaxed a little. The wound still hurt like hell. She had barely been able to contain the string of curses that had threatened to slip past her lips when the doctor had first began sewing the sutures in place.

When the doctor turned a corner and disappeared, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed her mother.

"Hello?" came Catherine's distant and distracted voice. She had clearly answered the phone without checking the caller ID, because she always greeted Lindsey in a way that showed that Catherine knew who was on the other line.

"Mom, come back to earth. I need you right now."

"Hey, baby. What's the matter? Something happened, didn't it?" Catherine was back, and all the attention that had been nonexistent only moments earlier was now baldly apparent.

"Yeah, I'd say so." Lindsey recounted the events that had taken place back at the house. "We're fine, Mom," she said when Catherine gave no response, then added, "Well, I am. The bullet got lodged in Drake's shoulder, and they had to surgically remove it. But I guess it's not that big of a deal."

It was a moment before Catherine spoke. "Was it Gedda?"

"How should I know? I don't know what he looks like. All I know was some fat slob tried to take me and Drake out, and failed miserably, because we're both still kick--" Lindsey broke off as her gaze wandered and fixed itself on the man that had just entered the ER. "Is this guy retarded or something?"

Lindsey jumped when her mother, obviously trying to get Lindsey's attention, nearly shouted, "Who?"

"It's the bastard who broke in. He's here." She slipped off the triage bed, moving behind the curtain and out of the man's line of sight. "What a dumbass."

"Did he see you?"

"No, I hid as soon as i saw him." Lindsey peeked around the corner, saw that the attacker's back was turned, and glided across the ER to the bathrooms, careful not to bring attention to herself.

"Just stay where you are. I'm sending Brass."

The call disconnected, and Lindsey leaned back against the bathroom door. An overwhelming sense of fear gripped her as the gravity of the situation finally settled its weight, crushing her, leaving her breathless. That's when the tears came.

* * *

Drake left the sterile area of the operating room, grateful that they hadn't needed to put him under to get out the bullet. He was also grateful that he was allowed to keep his gun on him, just in case. His shoulder throbbed, a dull ache limiting the use of his arm. Thankfully it was only his left shoulder, otherwise he'd have some serious issues doing his job.

As he entered the ER, he scanned the crowd for Lindsey. The realization that she was not amongst the throng of people wasn't what had him reaching for the gun at his hip, but the man that was sitting at one of the beds in the triage area, a doctor examining the stab wound in his side.

The man looked up at Drake, and fear as well as defiance were immediately branded in his eyes. Drake gave chase as the man shoved the doctor out of the way and made a beeline for the automatic doors of the emergency room's exit. The overweight clod's foot caught on an IV stand, launching him into the chairs that outlined the waiting area, toppling them with bull-dozing force.

The stranger flipped onto his back, groaning at the pain the effort caused him, as Drake approached him at a sprinting pace, not giving the man a chance to gather his wits. Drake aimed his gun at the man's head, only looking away long enough to see Jim Brass walk through the doors, gun in hand, presumably because of the screaming that had resulted from the short lived chase.

"Where's Lindsey?" Brass asked as he approached Drake, his gun also trained on the perpetrator's head.

"I have no idea. She wasn't here when I came out of the operating room. I didn't really have a chance to look for her, as you could probably imagine," he deadpanned, making a gesture at the man now being lifted to his feet and handcuffed.

Brass turned to the officers handling the man. "Make sure he gets patched up before you bring him to the station. We don't need any lawsuits because we denied him the medical treatment he came for." He turned back to Drake. "Go. Look for Lindsey. I've got this under control."

Drake nodded. "Sure thing, Captain Brass."

"Call me Jim." he paused. "I heard what happened. You saved Lindsey's life."

"I assure you, Jim, she did all the saving. If not for her, the bullet in my shoulder would have been joined by a bullet in my head."

Brass laughed a deep, gutteral laugh that Drake couldn't help but reciprocate. "Sounds like Lindsey. Just like her mother."

"No." He paused, a familiar feeling spreading within. "She's truly unique. I've never met anyone quite like Lindsey Willows." Brass fixed him with a knowing look, and Drake looked away, uneasy. "I'm, uh, gonna shut up and look for Lindsey now."

"Yeah, she needs you. Catherine said Lindsey sounded scared when she called."

"Right," Drake said quickly, hurrying away to begin his search. He paused for a moment, thinking of the first place someone would hide in a public place. The answer came to him almost immediately.

* * *

There was a knock at the door, and LIndsey's heart launched into orbit. "Just a minute," she called after an unsuccessful attempt to even her breathing.

"Lindsey?"

Drake. She wiped the stray tears from her cheeks before she stood and opened the door. "He's here, Cam. I saw him."

He tensed momentarily, then relaxed immediately. "I know. We got him cuffed. Once he's stitched up, Brass is taking him to the station for questioning."

"Thank God." Lindsey thoughtlessly threw herself into his arms as relief rushed through her. He grunted, and she winced. A moment later she stepped back--still only a few inches from him--and cringed at the look of pain on Drake's face. "Sorry. I forgot."

"It's fine. I'm just glad you're OK. You were smart to hide when you saw him." He pulled her back into an embrace, threading his hand in her hair, and she accepted the comfort gratefully. There was no sense fighting something she really needed. "I'm surprised Brass allowed him the luxury of medical treatment. Though I suppose he needed it. You really did a number on him, Lindsey. I'm impressed."

She looked up, stunned at the admiration that was showing plainly on his face. "Those self defense classes my campus offered really came in handy, huh?"

"Sure seems that way. Maybe I should take those classes. You saved my sorry ass tonight, you know? What are the boys at Quantico gonna say?"

His eyes sparkled with humor and vitality, and it was only then that she realized that the same tingling heat she had felt at the safe house had returned, and fire burned in her cheeks. She stepped back quickly.

"What's the matter?" he asked. The look in his eyes told her that she didn't need to answer the question. He knew exactly what was wrong, and he was playing the ignorance card. "You know you're safe with me, right?"

"Yeah, of course," she answered, confused.

"Because no one will hurt you while you're under my protection, Lindsey. No one." He stared pointedly at her, and almost instantly the humor returned to his light eyes. "At least, not again. But I will point out that I was incapacitated at the time you gave yourself that nasty cut."

"Yeah, OK. Keep telling yourself that, Cam." She laughed, stopping only when she saw the look on his face: a stupid grin, and she was bound to be annoyed when she found out what it was for. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." The grin widened, and she glared. "Only that you called me Cam. Twice. Within an hour."

"It's your name, isn't it?" she said innocently.

"I know that, but I didn't know _you_ did. You always call me Drake."

"Well, now I'm calling you Cam. You have a problem with that?" She amped up the defiance in an attempt to intimidate him into dropping the subject.

"No. I rather like it, actually. I could definitely get used to it." Her eyes met his, and the look he was giving her alluded to the rising sexual tension between them. She blushed deeper. "I could also get used to that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she lied.

But he saw right through it. "Yes you do. You just don't want to admit that you could get used to this too."

"And understandably so. I'm not exactly experienced in this sort of thing." She looked down, crossing her arms across her chest defensively. "I lied. About why my boyfriend and I broke up. It wasn't because of school. It was because I..." she stumbled, and the blush grew deeper still.

"Because you wouldn't sleep with him?" Drake offered. She nodded. "Well, if it's any consolation, that wanker didn't deserve you. You're much too good for him."

"Oh? And how would you know?" she asked doubtfully.

"Perhaps I wouldn't, but what I do know is that you're smart, beautiful, tough--"

She cut him off. "Beautiful? You think I'm _beautiful_?"

"Yes, Linds, and you damn well know it." He stepped closer. "You see the way I look at you. I can't help it. And you look at me the same way."

"I do _not_," she said, a weak protest against the ever growing tension.

He smiled knowingly, but didn't call her out on it. "Alright, I'm going to drop this for now before you deck me. But this discussion is far from over."

Turning on his heels, Drake walked away, hand resting on the holster attached to his belt. Lindsey's mind was reeling with a slew of emotions, most unidentifiable. She shook her head in disbelief. She'd just have to brush this aside. Again.

With a strong sense of déjà vu, Lindsey exited the bathroom and left the hospital.


	18. Chapter 17

_**I didn't have time to edit this. I busted my ass to get it done before work. If I hadn't, I probably would have lost it. Enjoy, because I don't know when I'm gonna be able to get another one done. Sorry I'm taking so long... o.O BTW, I had to edit something, because my time line was waaaaaaay off. Gedda is no longer in Iowa, because time travel hasn't been invented yet, and you can't get there in fifteen minutes from Cambridge, Mass. So, he's still in Mass. I hope to get another one done soon. I love you guys for sticking with me despite the delay. **_**3_ Enjoy!

* * *

_**

"Hey! Watch it!"

Catherine paused as she and Warrick made their way to the entrance of the emergency room. Brass was leading a short, heavy set man through the automatic doors, and seemed to have accidentally pushed the man into one of the doors before it had fully opened.

"Oops." Brass shrugged, signaling to Catherine that the collision had been anything but an accident. Ignoring the glare he received in response, Brass turned his attention to Catherine and Warrick. He presented the indignant man he held by the collar and wrists with a rough push. "This prize pony is Marcus Kincaid. Genius had his wallet on him."

"I'm right here you know?" Kincaid grated, rolling his recently injured shoulder.

"Shut up," Brass clipped, his eyes filling with barely contained anger. When Kincaid met Brass's eyes, he shrank into himself with a wince.

Catherine glanced at the cowering suspect for a moment, taken in his disheveled appearance. Blood stained the right side of his shirt, a crusted cloud looming around a sizeable tear in the fabric.

She met the man's eyes with a disgusted glare. "Why?"

Kincaid looked confused. "Why, what?"

Brass jerked the overweight man back toward him, close enough that Brass could Mike Tyson Kincaid's ear if he had a mind to. "You know damn well, 'why, what'."

A defiant 'hmph' escaped Kincaid's lips. Brass jerked the man's cuffed hands roughly, and Kincaid let out a surprised cry in pain. "Okay, okay. I owed a guy a favor. He told me to hit that bitch in there." Another jerk of the cuffs; another cry. "Sorry. That _lovely lady_ in there. Obviously, that didn't go so well. And now the son of a bitch is gonna put a hit out on me, too."

"What a shame," Warrick murmured.

"Does this 'guy' have a name?" Catherine asked, her blood boiling with the maternal instinct to destroy any threat to her daughter.

"Nick Gedda."

Catherine could feel Warrick bristling behind her. "Do you know where he is?" Warrick asked, his voice strained.

Kincaid's brow furrowed in thought. "I talked to him around five. He was pissed. He said he was coming back to Vegas. He didn't tell me where he actually was, though."

"Did it sound like he was in a car?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. It was quiet." He seemed deep in thought, once again. "I think I heard someone yelling. Their accent was weird. New England, I think."

"That it?" Brass asked impatiently.

"Yeah, that's all I know."

"Okay then." Brass pushed Kincaid roughly, eliciting a muttered comment about police brutality. Catherine watched until Kincaid was pushed into the cruiser--hitting his head against the door frame first.

She probably would have laughed if the circumstances were different. She rushed through the automatic doors, Warrick close at her heals. She saw Lindsey almost immediately, sitting next to Drake on a waiting room bench. Her body was stiff, turned almost imperceptibly away from the agent. She looked up and saw Catherine, nearly launching out of her seat to meet her.

"Baby, are you okay?" Catherine asked, taking Lindsey's hands to survey the damage. A bandage covered the majority of her forearm, and the skin at the edges of the gauze was red and swollen. "What happened to your arm?"

"I tripped and fell on the knife I stabbed that bastard with. It was deep enough to need stitches, but it didn't hit any major veins or arteries or whatever the hell is in there."

"For a ballerina, you're awfully clumsy," Drake chirped from behind Lindsey, and she whirled on him.

"You be quiet. I saved your ass tonight."

"Some job you did of that. My shoulder smarts something terrible." When he held up his hands in surrender, Catherine knew her daughter was giving him a glare that could compete with her own. "Okay, okay. Shutting up."

Lindsey turned back to her mother, a satisfied smile marred by the lines creasing her smooth, young face. She looked... disturbed. Not by the close call she had just experienced, but something else. It looked familiar. As realization dawned on her, Catherine gave her daughter a knowing look.

A confused look graced Lindsey's face. "What's that look? Mom? What... oh, dear God, no. No, no, no, no, no. Not right now. No."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Catherine said slyly.

"Are we missing something?" Drake asked Warrick, ignorance twisting his features.

"Get used to it," Warrick stated from behind Catherine. "It never got any easier to understand Catherine. I doubt Lindsey will be any different. Just accept that you'll be left out. A lot."


	19. Chapter 18

Iowa. Twenty hours of driving, and he was in Iowa. Fuck, this was taking too long. He would have taken a plane if he hadn't gotten sick. Gedda dragged a hand over his face, sweat pouring down in sheets. Chills wracked his body. He pulled over to the side of the road, barely rolling down the window in time to vomit onto the pavement.

Praying fervently that this was only a twenty four hour bug, Gedda struggled as the last of his stomach contents splattered onto the highway, and dry heaves continued to wrack his body. There was no way he would be able to go any further. When a reprieve from the gagging and heaving came, he sat back and reclined the seat, allowing the cool Iowan air to soothe his burning skin.

The sound of sirens stirred him out of a restless, achy sleep, and he sat up with an effort. Gedda put a hand over his eyes as a flashlight was shone into his open window. "Is everything alright sir?"

"Does everything look alright?" Gedda shot back, pointing down to the vomit on the pavement where the officer stood. With a curse, the officer stepped to the side. "Yeah. You should really watch where you walk."

"License and registration, sir," the officer demanded, turning off his flashlight as he dragged his feet across the ground. Gedda rummaged through the glove box and found the documents. The officer glanced at them, then back to Gedda. "Have you been drinking this evening, Mr. Gedda?"

"No, I have not." The statement was slurred, and despite the fact that he really _hadn't_ been drinking, he knew it wasn't looking good for him. "I'll just get out of the car now."

"Please." The officer stood aside, and turned away as Gedda opened the door. "Now, i'm going to ask you to walk alo--"

The man was cut off as a bullet entered his skull.

* * *

Catherine drove up to her home at five the next evening. Nick and Mandy had stopped by to pick up her car and drop it off at the hospital when they'd learned about Lindsey's ordeal. She leaned her head against the headrest and closed her eyes, trying to relax.

She was eternally grateful that she wouldn't have to see the mess the events of the previous day had left. Day shift had taken the case, due to conflict of interest. Catherine had received a short call from the lead CSI the previous night to let her know that they had completed their part in the investigation, and crime scene clean up would arrive in the morning.

Hearing an engine catch and ignite, Catherine opened her eyes. The clean up crew's van was just backing out of her driveway. She hadn't even noticed them when she had pulled in, testimony to her severe distraction from the real world, and the fact that she was running on automatic.

She heard Lindsey start from a restless sleep at Drake's provoking, followed by a smacking noise. "Ow. I swear, Lindsey, it's as if you're trying to keep me in constant pain."

"Sorry," Lindsey replied sheepishly to Drake's complaint. "Nightmare."

Silence filled the car, and after a moment Warrick made his presence known. "Let's get inside. Gedda's been in the city for a few hours, and we don't know when he's gonna make his move. We need to get ready."

"Did they ever find out what happened to the agents that were supposed to be watching the house?" Drake asked, concern thick in his voice.

The betrayal that flowed from Warrick was palpable, and Catherine could tell the news was not good. At all. "They found the big guy, Agent Bryce, with a bullet between his eyes. No one's seen Agent Walsh since we left for the lab."

"That explains why Lindsey couldn't find them. Christ." The anger in Drake's voice made it hoarse. "He's working with Gedda, isn't he?"

"That's what the FBI thinks." Warrick's reply was skeptical.

"What about you?" Catherine asked him, the reality that she wouldn't be relaxing for quite a while finally settling in.

"I don't think. I know," he stated firmly.

"I second that," Drake said. "I always knew there was something off about that guy. He cared more about how straight his tie was than if the person we were protecting was safe."

"Clearly," Lindsey grated. She had the edge to her voice Catherine knew from her daughter's youth, when she got caught up in the drama that was senior year. It spoke to Lindsey's urge to retaliate for what had happened the previous day.

Catherine saw Drake turn to Lindsey in the rearview mirror. A look of compassion was clear in his eyes. He said, "Why don't we go inside and get some coffee, Linds? You look like you need it." Lindsey nodded, opening her door and slipping out of the car, her body tense.

When Lindsey and Drake disappeared inside the house, the supports Catherine had built to keep herself together the past two days fell, and her resolve shattered. The constant battling to keep herself together--for the team, for Lindsey--even she had her breaking point. And here she was, sobbing against the steering wheel, the weight of her situation--her world--crushing her, and her will to fight against it drained.

Suddenly, strong arms pulled her from the car, forcing Catherine to her feet. She didn't fight, because she felt no danger--nor did she care, even if she had. She simply stood, her tears soaking into the cotton of the man's shirt. He stroked her hair, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"Let it out, Cath," Warrick soothed, her sobs shaking them both. "You're not alone. I've got you."

She cried uncontrollably. Until there were no more tears left to shed. As her mind began to clear, all the energy was sapped from her, and she collapsed into all-consuming darkness.


	20. Chapter 19

Drake placed a cup of coffee in front of Lindsey, ignoring the dull throb in his shoulder. Her gaze was focused beyond the kitchen, where Warrick had just been. Worry for her mother's well being was etched into Lindsey's face, drawing lines deeper than Drake had ever seen them.

He sat across from her with his own cup, staring into the cup for a moment before looking back to Lindsey. "What's on your mind, Linds?"

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, an unaffected gaze that intensified his own worry. "Nothing really. I mean, the fact that my mother may be losing her mind couldn't possibly be bothering me right now, right?" Lindsey took a deep breath, and Drake couldn't help but notice that each of her muscles were wound piano wire tight.

She's blaming herself, he thought, feeling his face contort into a look of pained sympathy. The objectivity he was trained to portray in his assignments was well out of reach, and it took every ounce of restraint he could muster to keep from moving to console Lindsey.

He turned away for a moment, but his attention was snapped back immediately when a loud crash sounded against the wall. Coffee slid down the wall in a deep brown sheet, spreading an ever-darkening puddling around shards of white porcelain.

Looking from the wall to Lindsey, Drake frowned. Lindsey's right arm was turning a ghastly shade of pink, proof that she had carelessly flung the coffee mug against the wall. She seemed unfazed by the burns on her arm, but it didn't affect the concern rising in him.

Drake stood and walked around the table to Lindsey, taking her hand to lead her to the sink. He placed her arm under the faucet and ran the cold water, holding it still when she flinched and tried to pull it back.

"Dammit, Cam, that hurts," she protested, slowly coming out of her stupor.

"Serves you right. What were you thi-"

"What the hell was that?"

Drake looked over his shoulder to the doorway to see Warrick standing there, concern in his expression. Drake resisted the urge to shake his head in amusement at the growing theme. "Just cleaning up some spilled coffee."

Warrick looked at the wall where the coffee had left an amber stain on the ivory paint, then back to Drake. The skepticism was clear in his eyes, but anything he may have wanted to say was lost when he noticed Lindsey's arm under the faucet. "Are you okay, Lindsey?"

"I'm fine. A little coffee got on my arm. It's nothing."

More skepticism. Drake said, "It really is nothing. Not even a first degree burn. The coffee was hardly hot."

He couldn't tell if his lie had been effective, but Warrick walked over to the counter. "If you say so," Warrick said. He took out a mug and poured a cup of coffee in silence. "I'm gonna go back to Catherine. She's in bad shape, but nothing she won't recover from." He sent a pointed look Lindsey's way, "I'll take care of her."

Lindsey merely nodded before Warrick walked out of the room. When he heard the door to Catherine's bedroom shut, Drake went back to tending Lindsey's arm. "Now, do you mind telling why in the hell I'm treating what could have easily been a first degree burn on a recently stitched up arm?" She remained silent, and he sighed in frustration. "Lindsey, God dammit," he grated, roughly turning off the faucet and jerking her arm gently to face him.

What he saw when he looked into her eyes sent a dagger into his heart. Tears, streaming down her cheeks freely. But the look in Lindsey's eyes was more troubling. Anger, hot and untamed, lit her irises aflame. It was a look that, Drake imagined, could start a raging inferno.

"Look, Linds. I know you're worried about your mother. And I understand you're pissed about what happened yesterday. But I'm telling you right now that there is no way I'm going to let you do anything that could get you hurt."

"You won't _let me_?" she scoffed, a glimmer of amusement sparkling briefly in her eyes. "I think yesterday proved that I am fully capable of taking care of myself."

Drake grabbed her wrist and held her forearm up for her to look at. "I beg to differ. From what I gathered, if that cut had been any deeper, you'd have nicked an artery. You could have gotten yourself killed yesterday, and it would have been on my hands."

"Well, you _would_ have been killed yesterday if I hadn't done something!" she shouted, her eyes blazing with intensity and a passion that could only be born from the pain of near loss.

"And if you had been killed playing rescuer, how do you think I would have felt? Shit, Lindsey, you know how I feel about you. And I know you feel the same way." His voice was controlled, but it didn't affect his ability to get his point across.

She looked at him warily, shaking her head. "How do I know this isn't just some situational thing? That once we get rid of Gedda, you'll feel the same way?"

"You can't know. That's what makes love so great. It's unpredictable. It sneaks up and tackles you from behind. Your only options are to fight for or run from it." His gaze locked on Lindsey's now uncertain stare. "Which is it, Linds? Fight or flight?"

She looked at him, but didn't make any move that indicated a decision. After five minutes, he amended his observation. Her lack of response was a decision.

Sighing, he turned to the counter and grabbed a washcloth, soaking it with warm water. As disappointment surged through him, Drake murmured, "Flight." He squeezed the excess moisture from the cloth with more effort than necessary, then proceeded to clean up the mess Lindsey had made.

As he was scrubbing the coffee stain from the wall as best he could without any chemical aids and a bum shoulder, he felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder. He winced as Lindsey squeezed lightly. Turning to face her, Drake smiled dejectedly. "Yes?"

"Fight," she stated quickly, her lips on his before he could react. He stumbled back into the wall, inhaling sharply when his shoulder connected with it. Despite the breathtaking pain, he didn't stop the kiss. It felt too good. Too right.

Lindsey nipped his bottom lip teasingly, eliciting a low growl. He pushed her back just enough to turn them around so she was against the wall, never breaking their contact. Lindsey's hands slithered up his sides to his neck, locking there. Drake placed his own hands on the small of her back, pulling her close until she melted against him.

After what seemed like forever, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke Lindsey and Drake apart, two feet of distance between them in a split second. It was Warrick, the disapproving glare in his eyes softened by the smile on his lips. "Am I... interrupting something?" Warrick asked, a mixture of innocent surprise and irritation in his tone.

"Ah... um..." Lindsey stammered, and Drake glanced back at her to see her cheeks flushing scarlet. He grinned, and she glared at him. "Shut up, Cam."

"Hey, I didn't say anything!" he protested, purposefully pushing her buttons. "As for your question, Warrick... no, you weren't interrupting a thing."

"Mmhmm." Warrick looked back and forth between the two of them before walking to the counter. "Well, I just came to tell Lindsey that Catherine just woke up." He poured coffee into the fresh mug he pulled from the cabinet. He turned and stared pointedly at Lindsey. "She wants to talk to you."

"Okay," Lindsey murmured. She looked at Drake and took his hand, squeezing it quickly before hurrying out of the room.

"So," Warrick prompted, scrutinizing Drake as if he were under a microscope. "You do realize what I'll do to you if anything happens to her, right?"

Drake twisted his lips into a lopsided grin. "I think I have an idea." Drake set his jaw and stared Warrick directly in the eyes. "Which is why I'm going to do everything I can to protect her."

"What are you saying, Drake?"

"I got a call from the agent in charge just before we left the hospital. A cop in Iowa was shot point blank in the back of the head during a routine traffic stop. Witnesses who saw the suspect said he was taller, dark hair, and was driving a car with Massachusetts license plates."

"Gedda." Warrick's voice was distant, distracted. "When was this?"

"About twenty four hours ago. There were reports of a man driving eratically at the Arizona/Nevada border, and others of a very ill man matching Gedda's description checking into a hotel in Carson City." Drake paused. "That was six hours ago. I looked it up, and he's only eight hours away, give or take."

"If he stopped to sleep off a bug, he's still not going to take his time. He's out for blood."

Drake nodded, running a hand back through his hair. "We may only have a couple of hours to prepare." Warrick looked over his shoulder toward where Lindsey had disappeared. "Don't worry, Warrick. Grissom and Nick will be coming here to stay with them while we're gone."

"You don't actually think they'll let us go without them, do you?" Warrick asked skeptically.

Shaking his head, Drake flashed a knowing smile. "Not at all."


	21. Chapter 20

_**Hey there! It's me again, actually writing a note. I've actually already got the next chapter started (it was supposed to be part of this one, but it turned into a monster and I had to break it up). So, enjoy this one, and anticipate another update within the week (hopefully). But with my job, I'm swamped with either too much work or not enough sleep. Also, the end is nigh (I think I used that right). It'll probably be within the next five chapters, if I have anything to say about it. But I never do, so... okay, I'm gonna shut up now. Enjoy!

* * *

**_

"Absolutely not," Catherine grated. "There is no way in hell I'm letting my daughter anywhere near this son of a bitch." She glanced at the door her daughter had disappeared through moments earlier. Her hand went up to silence both Warrick and Drake when they tried to speak. "Hell, no. You're not going to change my mind."

"You know she's going to want to be there, Cath," Warrick pressed, taking a hesitant step forward. "She has the same urge to protect you that you have to protect her."

Catherine knew he was right, but it was a moot point. She wouldn't knowingly put her daughter in danger if she could help it. "I know Lindsey's not going to make this easy." She sent a pointed look in Drake's direction. "Thankfully, we have someone else that she wants to protect."

"Who? Me?" Drake asked, throwing an uneasy glance to Warrick. A mild look of surprise danced over his face. "Oh, you didn-"

"Yeah. He told me what happened in the kitchen." She grinned despite herself. "I'm not angry. I'm actually kind of happy her taste in men doesn't suck anymore. It reminded me too much of myself when I was her age..." she trailed off, remembering all too well the bullets she dodged-like Mickey Dunn-and the ones she wasn't lucky enough to have her father around to take care of for her.

Suddenly, Warrick's cell phone rang. One look at the frown creasing his features and Catherine instantly knew who it was.

"Seems like he's more impatient than we thought," Drake noted.

Warrick answered the call with a clipped statement that was anything but a greeting. "Seems you're always a step behind, huh?" Warrick asked mockingly, a wicked grin on his face. Drake was on his phone and walking out the door. "What do you want, Gedda?" The grin vanished. "How about something that you at least have _half_ a shot in hell of getting?" The question came out through firmly gritted teeth. "What makes you think any one of us is going to let him live long enough to talk?" Pause. "Point taken. We'll be there."

"Well?" Catherine asked as Warrick disconnected the call.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Warrick pinched the bridge of his nose. "He's not coming himself. He's sending Walsh. It sounds like he has the flu." Warrick turned to Drake as he walked back into the room. "Did they get a trace on the call?" he asked, lifting the cell phone in his hand to indicate the recent conversation.

"Not an exact location. The signal kept jumping from tower to tower. They were able to narrow it down to the Tonopah area before the signal cut out entirely."

"That's about three hours from here. He set up the meeting for nine." Warrick checked his watched. "Son of a bitch."

Catherine copied his action and cursed violently under her breath. Six thirty. "Well, that settles it. Drake, you're-"

"-going to stay with Lindsey?" Drake cut in, already opening the door to leave. "Under the circumstances, I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm going to talk to the boys outside, make sure they expect an ambush. I'll call in a few reinforcements to accompany you two to the diner for that meeting. They'll be happy to make the arrest."

The door closed behind Drake and Catherine shook her head. She was amazed at the devotion Drake had to her daughter's safety. His statement about calling in more agents to go with Catherine and Warrick should have upset her, but the fact that Drake was keeping the more experienced agents with Lindsey made any anger Catherine may have felt disappear.

"Well, that was... unexpected," Warrick said as he moved to lock the door, his mouth remaining slightly agape after he finished speaking.

"You're surprised?" She gave him a stunned look. "You're the one who walked in on them."

He flinched, then groaned. "Don't remind me. I have a hard time imagining Lindsey all grown up and... acting it." Warrick looked at Catherine with a small smile. "But she is, isn't she? All grown up, I mean."

"Yeah. And it seems she's doing a good job of it," she replied, a proud smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Mm..." The gap between Catherine and Warrick closed to just inches. "You've done an amazing job with her."

Catherine put her hands on his shoulders, still a little dazed by her drastically changing reality. "I don't think I could have done it without the team. After you..." she cut herself off and backtracked. "When Grissom left and Ray joined the team, everything just got so different. Lindsey's acting out got worse. Riley and I investigated a night club, and Lindsey was there. She... I don't know what happened after I grounded her for the rest of her life, but she made a complete one-eighty. Her grades shot up, and she was in the running for valedictorian before I knew it. Harvard became her dream. A 2090 on the SATs cinched it."

"Damn," Warrick breathed. "Are you sure this is our Lindsey you're talking about?" Eyes wide, Catherine locked her gaze on Warrick, who had an almost paternal look of wonder in his eyes. _Our_ Lindsey? she asked herself. When his eyes met hers, Catherine noticed his cheeks darken almost imperceptibly. It was always difficult to tell with him, but somehow she just _knew _when he was blushing. "I mean... well, you know ho-"

As he stumbled over his words, Catherine cut him off with a soft, lingering kiss. A wide grin pulled her lips into tight lines over her teeth, a radiant smile that seemed to only make an appearance when Warrick was near. It faltered a bit at the memory of the situation they were in, but she brushed it off for the moment. "I love you," she murmured, kissing him again lightly.

Warrick leaned back, his eyes boring into hers. "I love you, too."

A deep kiss followed, erasing all worries of the moment and the lingering threat of the events that would take place in mere hours. Catherine-still only in the T-shirt and shorts that Warrick had put her in to keep her comfortable when she'd passed out-stepped gracefully backward until the backs of her knees met the bed. Though she stopped, Warrick's final step forward set her off balance, and Catherine tumbled back on the bed, laughing quietly all the while.

Warrick undressed swiftly, and Catherine-though the desire to do so was strong-resisted her instinct to appraise him. It was easier than she thought it would be once his hands lifted the hem of her white T-shirt up to unbutton her shorts, his fingers grazing the sensitive flesh of her stomach ever-so-lightly, sending blazing hot shockwaves throughout her body. Funny how such a light touch from anyone else would have felt like a tickle, but she nearly seized when it was Warrick.

Before she recovered fully, she was completely stripped, and Warrick was hovering over her, a look of love and admiration turning his eyes a shade she'd never really seen before-a deep emerald with flecks of...was that _blue_?

Catherine choked back a surprised gasp as he entered her, starting at a pace that drove her wild and yet soothed her all at once. Warrick kissed her deeply, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as the rhythm picked up, from waltz to quickstep. Her heart hammered violently against her chest, and it took everything in her to keep from crying out as she reached her limit, instead opting to crash her lips against his.

As he was ready to collapse, Warrick struggled to hold himself up to stare into Catherine's eyes-the effort showed plainly in the straining muscles of his arms. He angled himself down just enough to plant a firm kiss on her lips, and her hands tangled into the rough hair at the nape of his neck.

Warrick rolled over to the side, pulling Catherine against him gently in a warm embrace. She played with the hair on his chest, smiling briefly at something she had said so long ago on a case she's worked with Grissom, it felt like a dream. Something about hairy chests and weasels. She let out a quiet chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Warrick asked dazedly, his voice drifting between consciousness and sleep.

"Just thinking of an old case. No big deal."

When Warrick's breathing started to slow down and even out into the rhythm that indicated sleep, Catherine pinched him. "Ow! What was that for?"

"This isn't the best time to fall asleep, y'know?" Catherine reminded him, her post-coital high quickly evaporating. She desperately latched on to the last bit that remained, and it slowly submitted. She contented herself to snuggling up against Warrick for just a few moments, knowing this could be their last chance.

"Hey, give me some credit," Warrick said out of the blue. She craned her neck to look him in the eyes. "After three years, there is no way in hell I'm going to let anything keep us apart again. You know that."

Catherine smiled broadly, resting her head against his chest once more. "Of course I do. But after everything that happened in the past-Eddie, Nick, Sara, you-I've learned to expect the unexpected. And to prepare myself for the worst."

She felt Warrick stiffen at the memory of their colleagues' brushes with death, and-what she was sure was at the forefront of his mind-his own. "I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for how much I hurt everyone," Warrick murmured, his voice rough with pain. "Especially you."

"Well, that may be true," she mused, her thoughts twirling. "But what you need to know-and I'm sure you've noticed-is that everyone has, to some extent, forgiven you. They're just relieved to know you're okay, despite everything else. Everyone had just come to grips with your 'death', found solace in each other, and then it all turned out to be a lie. But we're all reasonable, and we understood you had to do it." She lifted her head again to kiss him fervently, bringing her point home. "We love you, no matter what. And we'll do anything to help you come back to us for good." She noticed the glossy shimmer of tears welling up in his eyes, lightening the emerald to more of a jade. She put her head back down on his chest before she said, "Besides, we all pretty much want to rid the world of every last trace of Gedda, and this is a means to an end. A very, very desirable end."

Warrick choked out a laugh, clearly having been overwhelmed by the tears momentarily. "Yes," he said in a throaty voice, kissing the top of her head. "We should probably get ready." Catherine heard a light thud-Warrick placing his cell phone back on the night stand, she was sure-and then sat up, holding the Egyptian cotton sheets to her chest.

Catherine gestured to the small master bath that she hardly ever used, due to the lack of an actual bathtub. "Want to clean up first?"

"That depends," he started with a sly grin. "Will you be joining me?"

A catlike grin crept onto her face. "I wouldn't have it any other way."


	22. Chapter 21

**_This chapter is why my story is rated M. I know, not who you expected to be the center of it, but yeah... my inspiration bunny has ADD. Big time. Enjoy!

* * *

_**

Lindsey started awake-the hand resting lightly on her shoulder in an attempt to ease her awake felt more like a live wire to the heart. What had she been dreaming about? Devon? She must have been. Sookie was curled up in the nook created by Lindsey's stomach and legs, and the little kitten always reminded Lindsey of her ex. But despite the resentment she felt for Devon, Lindsey could never reflect it on Sookie. She knew better than that.

Stroking the kitten behind the ears lightly, Lindsey glanced up to the owner of the hand that now rubbed lazily up and down the length of her arm. "Is everything alright, Cam?"

He shook his head. "Warrick just got a call from Gedda. He's on his way to Vegas, and he just found out that we're still alive."

Lindsey flung the sheets off of her body, revealing her short nightshirt-riding up just enough to reveal the slightest bit of her stomach above her panties. The cool air from the air conditioning hit her skin suddenly, raising gooseflesh all along her exposed skin. She pulled the shirt down roughly.

As her legs swung over so she could put her feet on the floor, Lindsey felt Drake sit beside her on the bed. His arm snaked around her shoulder. She watched as Sookie hopped off the bed and trotted over to her food bowl in the corner. "There's no need to hurry. Gedda's sending Ag-er, Walsh to meet your mother and Warrick at the diner. Apparently he wasn't pleased with his lackey. So Gedda gave him two options: Turn himself in or face a less appealing meeting with Gedda."

"What's to keep him from running?" Lindsey asked skeptically, rightfully unable to trust Jared Walsh after she'd nearly died because of him.

"Aside from Gedda's uncanny ability to find anyone?" Drake shrugged before pulling Lindsey closer to him protectively. "I don't know. Maybe it's because Warrick told Gedda to let Walsh know that if he even thought of pissing around, he'd make him even less of a man than he already is."

"Huh?"

Drake chuckled at her reaction to his statement. "Sorry. I forget that some of my choice phrases are lost to the American vernacular you're used to. I only meant that Warrick isn't going to be kind to Walsh if he decides to mess with us."

"Oh!" Lindsey exclaimed as she caught on, and she started laughing. "Sounds... oddly un-Warrick."

"I'm not so sure," Drake said thoughtfully, and Lindsey caught the wondering expression on his face. He noticed the question in her eyes, and he raised a brow. "You mean you haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?" She scrunched her forehead in thought, wondering what he meant.

"Well," he started, touching the tips of his fingers to her cheek. "I suppose you _have_ been a bit distracted. But what's going on between your mother and Warrick can't be new."

"What's go-What do you mean? Nothing's going on between them!" She paused, thinking back to the years before Warrick 'died', the times he came over for dinner, spent time with Lindsey and Catherine... the looks... "Oh my _God_!"

"You really didn't notice?" Drake asked, dumbfounded.

"No! Well, yeah, I guess. But I didn't think that she still... and that he still... well, _shit_." He was laughing now, a deep laugh that distracted her from her confusion. She looked up at him with a nonthreatening glare. "What?"

"You're just absolutely adorable when you're confused." Her glare softened, and he kissed her, taking advantage of her lowered guard. Any trace of irritation she might have felt was banished by the tingling heat that coursed through her.

She lifted her hand to rest on the back of Drake's neck and pulled him closer. Lindsey tangled her fingers in the dark brown hair at his nape, further deepening the kiss to the point where oxygen was nearly impossible to obtain without breaking away.

Something inside her clicked as she glanced over Drake's flushed skin before meeting his tea green eyes. They were hazy with something-desire, she identified after a moment-and Lindsey's hand slid to his cheek. It was warm to the touch, almost overheated. Drake leaned into her touch, and his eyes closed. It seemed odd-almost as if the roles should have been reversed-but she liked that she could do this to him.

Leaning in, she kissed him lightly on the lips. Lindsey's heart thudded against her ribs when his hands slid to her waist, lifting her to sit straddling his lap. Her cheeks blazed when she settled herself in and felt herself rub against him, eliciting the most beautiful sound from him-a cross between a groan and a sigh. Drake opened his eyes, now dark with the need that she was positive was mirroring.

She lifted herself up just enough to break contact, then lowered herself to grind against him again, feeling suddenly more confident in her own ability to be seductive.

"Lindsey," Drake said, the muscles in his neck stretched tight with restraint. "I don't want you to do anything you aren't sure about."

She mulled that over, pushing past the distracting thoughts that their position was causing. "This," she started, gesturing between herself and Drake, "wasn't an uncommon occurrence with Devon. Usually he initiated, but it never felt right. Like we were rushing things." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "But with you, it feels right. Natural. Like breathing."

She placed a lingering kiss on his lips, but she didn't have a chance to lean away before he dug his fingers into the bare flesh above her panties and pulled her against him. A gasp escaped Lindsey's throat, and her brain shut down momentarily in shock.

When she recovered, her hands moved to the collar of Drake's shirt. She undid his tie and tossed it on the floor before fumbling with the buttons. Her hands shook, but she managed to get half of them unbuttoned before Drake took over, never breaking their kiss.

As his hands moved to the hem of her shirt-his had been discarded on the floor somewhere-a thought occurred to Lindsey. She pulled away and reached over to her nightstand, pulling the drawer open roughly. The little box was still there, unopened and untouched. Lindsey could never understand why her mother had gotten them for her when she was with Devon-paranoia, maybe?-but she was grateful for it now.

"You need to get out of my head. Now," Drake said roughly, his gaze on the box Lindsey had thrown next to them on the bed. "I was just thinking of that."

"Thank my mom." Lindsey thought about it. "Actually, scratch that. She probably doesn't want to know about this."

"Agreed." Drake pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but her panties. She felt painfully self-conscious until she heard Drake mutter, "Damn."

Before she respond, his left hand was behind her head, pulling her into a kiss, while the right pulled her body flush against his. The feel of her breasts against the hot skin of his chest sent her into a tailspin, and she lost all control of her actions-and apparently so did he. He'd lifted her to lay her on her back on the bed. Lindsey's body was on fire.

In a blur of movement, Drake was hovering over Lindsey, waiting. She looked over to her nightstand to see an open wrapper-a little Spartan head on it-laying on the nightstand. Heat rolled off of him in waves, and little beads of sweat formed at his hairline. She wondered for a moment exactly why he was hesitating, and then it hit her.

She was a virgin, and this was _not_ going to feel good.

Gulping back the lump in her throat, Lindsey nodded almost imperceptibly. Drake placed his forehead against hers for a moment, then kissed her deeply, one of his hands traveling up her side and then down her arm, grabbing her hand. He broke the kiss to whisper into her ear, "Squeeze," as he did just that to her hand. He brought his lips back to hers roughly.

With one quick thrust, Drake entered her, and she nearly screamed, squeezing his hand with what felt like bone-breaking force.

"Are you okay?" he asked, a tinge of worry in his husky voice.

She opened her mouth to speak, but could only groan quietly in response. He moved to pull away, but Lindsey grabbed his shoulders from behind. "No," she croaked. "Just gimme a minute."

The pain didn't last as long as she'd expected, though she felt a little sore already. She lifted her head and kissed him, her silent confirmation that she was fine once again.

Tentatively, he began moving again, and the pain returned momentarily, but was eventually replaced by something new, and much, _much_ better. Soon, his pace became too slow, and she found herself lifting her hips to meet his. As if her action was a cue, he picked up the pace, and she met it almost naturally. Slowly, something unsettling-in a good way-built up in her lower stomach. She knew what it was-long talks with her roommate on the subject made sure of it-but she didn't know what to expect.

Drake quickened the pace steadily, building that feeling in Lindsey's stomach that much faster. Suddenly, it exploded-or maybe she did, that's how it felt-and everything turned black and white all at the same time. She felt Drake shudder and then he collapsed, his arms supporting him just enough to keep from cutting off Lindsey's air supply.

When she could see clearly again, Lindsey looked up at Drake dreamily. His eyes were open slightly, worry clouding them minutely. "Cam, I'm fine. More than fine, really. I'm... fabulous," she said, realizing just how unlike herself she sounded.

"The feeling's mutual," Drake replied, his eyes clearing into glimmering pools. He kissed her sweetly, then moved to sit up. "I'm, ah... glad you're doing well. But I just want to warn you... don't freak out when you get up."

"What do you-" She cut herself off, realizing what she may freak out about. She grinned. "I've seen blood before, you know?"

"True," he said with a sleepy smile. He traced the edge of the bandage on her arm. "At any rate, you're going to have laundry to do now. Want me to help?"

"No, I'll get it," she replied, her eyelids heavy. She forced herself to sit up. "You go clean up. I'm sure you can't be comfortable right now."

"I actually couldn't feel better if I tried." Drake grinned brightly at her. She wrapped the comforter around her naked body and stood with him. Lindsey's legs wobbled a bit, and he held her up. "You okay?"

Lindsey melted against him and kissed him. "Never better."


	23. Chapter 22

**_It's a short one! I'm really grateful to those of you who have stuck with me during this period of sparse updates. I appreciate the feedback, and hope to get more, because I really love to know if I'm doing well. But, as always, it's totally optional. I don't expect it. Anyway... Enjoy!_**

**_

* * *

_**

A bell jingled as the door to the diner flew open, and an impeccably dressed man crossed over the threshold. Walsh's deep gray Armani suit was freshly pressed, and his black Ferragamo shoes glowed in the fluorescent lights. A black and silver Gucci tie was knotted perfectly at his throat. A silver clip holding the tie to his pressed white Armani shirt was just barely hidden beneath the three button suit jacket. His hair was slicked back with hair gel, and he was clean shaven. But all the work Walsh did to make himself look perfect did nothing to hide the uneasiness in his eyes. Still, he held strong to his smug look of entitlement, and Catherine wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face.

Preferably with a fist.

Before Catherine could lose her temper, Warrick squeezed her hand. He gave her a look that reminded her how this meeting would go. Any dealing power Walsh may have had was gone now that they knew Gedda's true intentions. With the plan amended, Nick had opted to stay home with Mandy, who was having a hard time dealing with their new reality. Instead, Greg accompanied Gil to Catherine's house to stay with Lindsey, while Sara stayed at the lab with Ray and Michelle to help ease the caseload that had piled up.

Catherine noticed Warrick nod to the agents that had been waiting by the entrance. They followed Walsh to the table and stood on either side of him when he sat.

As much as Catherine wanted to see the son of a bitch squirm, she simply cut to the chase. "We know you're only here as a distraction, Walsh. We were able to trace Gedda's call. From where we traced it, meeting you here would leave Lindsey alone just as Gedda arrived in Vegas. So if you're thinking you have any leverage whatsoever, you better think again."

The look on Walsh's face didn't change, but she noticed the glimmer of helplessness resting in his eyes. A victorious smile tugged at her lips, and she didn't resist. Catherine wanted to rub this in his face.

Warrick gestured to the two burly agents, who forced Walsh to his feet and cuffed him. The smug look was quickly replaced by embarrassment fueled anger. He kept his mouth shut tight in a thin line, glaring at Catherine and Warrick until he was turned away roughly and shoved out the door by the two men holding either of his arms.

The cell phone in her pocket rang abruptly, and she checked the ID. Gil.

"What's going on over there? Is everything okay?" she asked, a little worried that he was calling so soon.

"That's the thing. Everything's fine," he replied, undertones of frustration marring his otherwise calm voice.

Before he could continue, a beep prompted her to check the call waiting. Lily. After everything that had happened over the past few days, Catherine had completely forgotten about her mother. The question presenting itself now was simply: Why was she calling now?

"Catherine!" Gil's voice sounded from the cell phone, shaking Catherine out of her reverie.

"Sorry, sorry. My call waiting went off. What were you saying?"

Gil was silent for a moment. Then, "Just that it's odd that no action has been taken. There's no sign of Gedda here. I called Sara to check at the lab, and there's no sign of him there, either. Are you sure he hasn't gotten it into his head to just go after you and Warrick directly?"

"I'm sure. Witnesses said that he was severely ill. He's not strong enough to come right to us. He's going to attempt something that doesn't require much effort on his part." She paused. "Now that I think about it, it wouldn't make much sense for him to go after Lindsey, even with Drake down a shoulder. And the lab is heavily guarded."

Just then, Warrick's cell phone rang, and she looked at him inquisitively. "It's a local number," he said, answering her unspoken question. Then he answered the call. "Lily?"

Okay, why the hell was her mother calling Warrick? How did she know his number? How did she know he was _alive_?

And then it hit her.

"Oh, _fuck_," she all but shouted, earning a few glares from the parents that were trying to coax their children into eating their food. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she was mentally berating herself for not answering the call waiting when she'd had the chance.

"What is it?" Gil asked, concern thick in his voice. When she didn't answer, he coaxed, "Catherine?"

Cathereine was reeling violently when she answered him.

"Gedda's got my mother."


	24. Chapter 23

**_Again, thanks to everyone who has stuck with me thus far. I see the end! It's so close. My head hurts... Enjoy!

* * *

_**

"Give me the phone, Warrick," Catherine said through gritted teeth after hanging up with Grissom. There was no way in hell she was letting anyone else speak to the son of a bitch who was holding her mother hostage.

"Shut up, Gedda," Warrick said in response to something the other man had said, and Catherine couldn't help but get angrier. Warrick nudged her out of the booth and out of the restaurant before saying to Gedda, "You have a bigger problem than the flu, and she wants to talk to you."

He handed over the phone with a grim look that oozed sympathy. Catherine yanked it out of his hand before she spat, "Any chance you had of dealing just flew out the window."

"Hello, Catheri-" he started, but Catherine was having none of it. She tossed her phone to Warrick, and he was dialing in seconds.

"Don't you say my name. You have no right. You messed with the wrong woman. First my daughter, then my mother? Why not just come after me? Am I too much for you to handle? Finally find a woman you knew you couldn't dominate?"

"You stupid bitch," Gedda seethed, his pretense shattered by Catherine's challenge. "I'd love to kill you, but you're just too well protected at the moment. So, in lieu of hitting Brown directly where it hurts, I decided that going after someone _you_ care about would be so much sweeter. It would get you _and_ him. It was just convenient that there wasn't an ounce of protection in sight for your mother. Why is that, _Catherine_?"

Her anger bubbled over, and she shouted, "That is _none_ of your fucking business!" She took a deep breath, willing herself back under control. "You are really pushing your luck, Gedda. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into." When Warrick gave her a thumbs up, indicating that the agents he had dialed had gotten a trace on the call, she added with the venom of a cobra, "And you can be damn sure you're not getting out alive."

* * *

The man tossed his phone across the room, shattering the one-of-a-kind vase Sam had given her just before he had been murdered. Lily fumed internally, choosing to only stare indignantly at the intruder who had tied her down to the rocking chair she had dozed off in.

"Did my daughter tear you a new one?" Lily asked, pride mingling with the malice in her tone.

The man crossed the room in two purposeful strides, backhanding Lily with a blinding force. Her vision swam-after all, her tolerance for this kind of abuse was dwindling at her age-but she managed to focus hazily on the vicinity of her attacker's face. She could feel the warm blood dribbling from where her lip had split.

"I'll take that as a yes." She braced herself for the strike this time, but no amount of preparation kept her head from swinging sharply to the right, and she heard a distinct crack as it ricocheted off her shoulder. A sharp pain shot into her head, and she cried out despite herself.

When her vision cleared up a few moments later, Lily glared up at the man who may have just given her some form of whiplash.

"Screw you," she said sharply, fighting back the tears that had welled up. She would not cry.

As the intruder's hand drew back for another strike, he suddenly doubled over. He clutched his stomach with a white knuckled grip. "Bathroom," he snarled, and Lily scowled at him before nodding her head in the direction of the hall, ignoring the blinding pain that had decided to ravage her nerves.

She watched him hurry down the hall, and when she heard the door to the bathroom slam shut, she started pulling at her restraints. They were rather loose, but the shooting pain in her neck kept her struggle to a minimum.

After ten minutes of fruitless pulling and twisting, Lily slumped. She could still hear the man who'd done this to her vomiting in the bathroom, the heaves becoming more violent as time progressed.

_That's what you get for not going to a hospital, prick,_ she thought.

Leaning her head back, she only had time for a quick respite before lights shone through her window. They traveled across the walls in a two-toned panorama, sporatically spotlighting a painting or family photo. She sighed, her vision beginning to blur again.

"Now what?"


	25. Chapter 24

"Hit the lights. We don't know where Gedda is," Catherine said to Warrick, who promptly did just that. He pulled up in front of the house of one of Lily's neighbors, cut the engine and sat back.

"Is there anyway I can convince you to stay here?" His voice was mildly pleading.

Catherine sighed. "Not a chance in hell. I won't sit idly by while my mother is in danger."

"I didn't think so," he murmured, a hint of admiration in his tone. Warrick took Catherine's hand in his as he looked over at her. "Just promise me you'll be careful?"

"Of course," she replied, opening the door.

As she shifted to step out, Warrick pulled her back to him and kissed her, and she savored it for a moment before pulling back, staring at him inquisitively in the dim glow of the dome light that permeated the cool winter darkness. Instead of explaining himself, he simply got out of the car, and Catherine stared after him for a moment before doing the same.

They closed the doors quietly and met in front of the car. Her hand rested subconsciously on her gun, and Catherine thought for a moment before whispering, "There's a door leading into the kitchen on the other side of the house. I'll go in through there, you take the front door." She stared at him for a long moment before adding, "And for God's sake, be careful."

"Hey, hey. What did I tell you before?" Warrick's voice was a gentle whisper, and a hand came up to rest against Catherine's cheek. She looked up at him, barely able to make out his silhouette in the darkness. "I meant it when I said nothing would keep us from each other again. Nothing bad is going to happen once we get in there."

She nodded against his hand, then stepped back. "Okay. Let's get this show on the road," she whispered purposefully. After another lingering kiss, she walked around Warrick and headed for the back of the house.

* * *

Warrick crouched-his height was a minor disadvantage at the moment-and walked up the pathway that led to the front door. He peered in the window to the side of the door, checking for any sign of life.

Nothing.

Carefully, he turned the doorknob and pushed open the cherry wood door, making as little noise as possible in the process. He winced when the hinges creaked, but after a moment of waiting and getting no response to the sound, Warrick continued into the house. He shut the door silently behind him, the creak reduced to a momentary squeak this time around.

He moved slowly through the foyer, taking each step with caution. He made his way into the living room, where he saw Lily sitting in a rocking chair that was facing the wall. As he got closer, not only could he see that she was bound to the chair by her arms, but he could hear the distinct sound of vomiting from the bathroom.

Hurrying across the room to where Lily was tied up, Warrick kneeled in front of the woman and cringed. Blood was trickling from her mouth and nose, and her lip was swollen to twice its normal size. There was a small cut on her cheek, where Gedda had most likely backhanded her.

"Son of a bitch," Warrick muttered, trying his best to contain his growing anger. "Lily." She looked up at him. "Lily, are you all right?"

"Peachy," she replied, the irony in her tone not lost on Warrick. "Could you untie these things. They're starting to chafe."

He looked down at the bonds, assessing them momentarily. They were crudely tied, and they'd loosened quite a bit. He grabbed one of the knots and deftly untied it, moving on to the next one and repeating the process.

"Thanks." Lily was rubbing her wrists, which were raw. Warrick had a feeling that they hadn't started chafing on their own. Lily was a tough lady.

"Catherine's car is parked out front. Take my cell and call-"

The sound of a gun cocking cut Warrick off, and he dropped the cell phone in his hand on the floor. He lifted his hands in the air instinctively. "So nice of you to drop in, Brown."

"Let her go, Gedda. You've got me. She's useless to you now," Warrick plead, staring at Lily apologetically.

"I suppose you're right," Gedda said thoughtfully, and Warrick turned to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. He ignored the memories that came to the forefront of his mind and forced himself to see Nick Gedda-not McKeen-holding the gun. He stood slowly.

Warrick sensed Lily's movement behind him. Gedda stared over Warrick's shoulder at her. "Go out the front door. And don't think I'll hesitate to kill you if you try anything stupid." He paused, then, "That includes calling the cops."

Lily left the house, and before Gedda had a chance to return his attention to him, Warrick sidestepped the gun and grabbed Gedda's arm. He tried to knock the gun from Gedda's grip, but Gedda's fist connected with Warrick's jaw first. The movement of Gedda's body twisting wrenched his arm from Warrick's grip, and Warrick had to act fast before the gun was aimed at him again. Warrick pushed Gedda back in the wall, knocking two paintings off the wall with a loud clatter.

But the gunshot was even louder.


	26. Chapter 25

**_Please don't boycott me... Enjoy!_**

**_

* * *

_**

Catherine stared ahead, pain overwhelming her. Her gun fell from her hand, and she looked down at her stomach in disbelief. Blood was gushing thickly from where the bullet had entered her body. She could feel the warmth of the blood soaking her back as well, indicating a through-and-through.

As the shock settled and her body went numb, Catherine collapsed.

* * *

"No!" Warrick shouted, and-fighting every instinct that told him to go to Catherine-focused his undiluted rage on Gedda. Warrick grabbed Gedda's wrist, jerking so roughly that he could feel the other man's shoulder dislocate. Gedda let out a strangled cry that Warrick hardly heard. A noise in the foyer distracted Warrick, and in the moment it took him to realize his mistake, Gedda was able to land a successful blow to the back of Warrick's head with the butt of the gun.

Stunned, Warrick fell to his knees. Before he could recover, Gedda was able to knock Warrick flat on his stomach and pin him to the ground, despite the fact that he only had the use of one arm. Warrick felt Gedda's arm slither around his neck. As it tightened, another shot rang out. The grip around Warrick's neck went slack, and Gedda collapsed.

Flipping over onto his back, Warrick rolled Gedda off of him and to the side. A quick glance at the body showed him the bullet hole between Gedda's eyes, wide with surprise at being taken down so close to his goal. Warrick shifted his gaze to the foyer, where Sara Sidle stood, just now lowering her gun.

"Nice of you to show up," Warrick said with a grunt as he stood and hurried over to Catherine. Her face was ghostly, and her breathing shallow. He took his jacket off and used it to elevate Catherine's head, then tore the fabric of her shirt to make a compress for the wound. "Is the ambulance coming?"

"I called 911 before I left the lab," she answered, now kneeling next to Warrick. "Oh, Jesus."

A thought occurred to him. "Why did you come? Did Grissom call you?"

"Yeah. Gil was going to come himself, but I was on my way back to Catherine's house when he called, so I made a detour. I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner." Her voice was thick with regret, and Warrick noticed a tear traveling down Sara's cheek. He wondered fleetingly if he had ever seen Sara Sidle cry before, but turned back to Catherine before he put too much thought into it.

"Catherine," he said, bending over to brush a kiss to her forehead. "Please, baby, wake up." No response. He shook her gently. Tears had formed in his eyes, and they were beginning to overflow. The sound of sirens permeated the silence.

"Warrick, the ambulance is here," Sara said gently. When he didn't move, she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, we have to give the paramedics room to work."

"I'm not leaving her." His voice was low. He shrugged Sara's hand off his shoulder when he noticed blood pooling under Catherine. He wanted to kick himself. He should have known to check to see if it was a through-and-through.

"I'm not asking you to, Warrick. But the paramedics need space to help her." As if on cue, the paramedics came blundering through the door. Sara called, "Over here."

Suddenly, everything was a blur. Warrick couldn't concentrate on anything but Catherine. She seemed to have gotten whiter in the few minutes that the paramedics took to assess her injuries and lift her carefully onto the gurney. He could see the life draining from her.

He hoped it wasn't too late.

* * *

Lindsey walked into the living room, following the sound of voices to the kitchen. She saw Drake first, a grim look on his face.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice worried. Had something happened to her grandmother? She knew Gedda had gone after Lily, but she didn't know what had come of the situation.

Sympathy was the dominant emotion on every face in the kitchen. She walked over to Drake instinctively, and he wrapped her in a tight embrace. When he released her, he left an arm draped across her shoulder. His hold on her was supportive.

But why was he supporting her?

Grissom was the one to answer her questions. "Your mother and Warrick went to your grandmother's, to get her away from Gedda. Warrick got your grandmother out." He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut. "When your mother went in the back way, Warrick and Gedda were in the middle of a struggle. The gun Gedda had went off. Catherine was hit."

Lindsey gasped, grateful that Drake had the sense to know she would react this way. "Is she going to be okay?" Her legs nearly gave out beneath her, and she clutched the man at her side with everything she had as she waited for an answer.

The uncertainty in Grissom's eyes cut Lindsey deep. "We just don't know, Lindsey. She's still in surgery, and it's touch and go at this point."

She turned to Drake. "Take me to the hospital. I need to be there."

"Okay," Drake said. "Let's go."


	27. Chapter 26

The doctor entered the waiting room with a somber expression pulling at his features. Warrick's heart sank deep, and he waited for the worst.

"She's stable," the doctor began without preamble. "She lost a lot of blood, and we had to do a transfusion. The bullet just barely missed her spinal column. She's lucky to have the use of her legs."

"When will we be able to see her?" Lindsey asked, her voice shaky with relief.

"She's resting now. When she wakes up, she can have two visitors at a time. No more than that," the doctor-the name badge said Dr. Collins-said with a stern look.

"Thank you, Doctor." Warrick stood to shake the man's hand, with a bit more vigor than necessary.

When the doctor had exited the waiting room, a collective sigh of relief filled the room. Warrick watched as everyone shared their relief-Drake wrapped Lindsey up in his embrace as she cried happy tears. Grissom and Sara held hands, his tightening almost imperceptibly.

All the while, Warrick realized with a heavy heart that he was alone in his relief. The knowledge that he was alive hadn't fully sunken in, so it was almost ten minutes before anyone remembered he was there. Lindsey-always the perceptive, astute one-stood and moved to Warrick, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She repeated the process with Sara.

"You guys saved my mother's life," she said to both of them. "And you saved Warrick's," she said only to Sara. "I'll never be able to thank either of you enough."

"No need," Sara said, taken aback by the show of affection from Lindsey.

"I'm sorry she was even hurt," Warrick said regretfully.

"But she's _alive_." Lindsey's tone was forceful. "That's all that matters."

Warrick wrapped an arm around the young woman, still amazed at how much she had grown in three years. "You're absolutely right."

* * *

A slight shake woke Catherine from a restless sleep. She had already woken once, but had passed out again almost immediately after the nurse had left. When her eyes fluttered open this second time, blue met green, and she smiled. "Hi, Warrick."

"Hi, Cath," he said, relief thickening his voice. "How are you feeling?"

"I hurt like hell," she replied, the pain in her stomach dulled by morphine, but still prominent. "Is Gedda..."

"Yeah. Sara got there just in time."

"Good." Her words were muddy in her exhaustion. "I'm getting sick of the job."

"What do you mean?" Warrick asked.

"The suspects. The victims. The crimes. The means, motive and opportunity. I'm sick of it." She sighed, her resolve slowly creeping in. She was really going to do this. "There's an envelope on my nightstand. It's my letter of resignation, along with my recommendation for Nick to be the new supervisor. I want you to bring that to Ecklie. I'm done."

Warrick's eyes widened in shock. "Are you sure, Catherine? This isn't just the drugs talking?"

"I've been sure for two and a half years. I'm just finally finding the courage to leave and never look back." She smiled. "Where's Lindsey?"

"I'm right here, Mom," Lindsey's voice chirped from behind Warrick. "You're really doing this?"

"Yeah, baby. I really am."

* * *

After three days of hospitalization, and week after week of physical therapy sessions, Catherine was finally back to full health. Her daughter was back at school, earning As and pirouetting her way to the top of the dancing ladder.

The lab had taken her resignation in stride. No one was surprised. In fact, they'd expected it a hell of a lot sooner than it had happened. Ecklie had taken her recommendation seriously, and she wasn't surprised when Nick was promoted to supervisor of graves. Mandy was moved to swing shift, to accomodate their relationship, but other than that, everything had resumed a normal rhythm in record time.

The only thing that had Catherine anxious was Warrick. In a few days, he would have to leave again, and she had no idea for how long.

"It's not permanent, Cath," Warrick repeated for the umpteenth time, and she believed him now just as much as she had the first time: very little. "I told you nothing was keeping us apart again. I meant it."

"This is the FBI, though, hon. They're going to keep you as long as they have to, to keep you safe. The U.S. Marshalls were pretty pissed that you had ducked under their radar for me. Just because Gedda is dead and gone doesn't mean you're entirely safe."

"I know, I know." He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "But Gedda was the only real threat that hadn't already been arrested and sent to prison for the rest of his life. This is only a formality."

Catherine shook her head. She just wasn't convinced. "I love you, but I can't wait around forever, Warrick. I may not be in Vegas when you come back."

"Then I'll find you. Wherever you are." His smiled was full of the promise his words held. "I love you, too, Catherine. I'll be seeing you again."

After a kiss that said goodbye, but held the promise of a future reunion, she said, "You're damn right."


	28. Epilogue

The view of the beach soaked in sunlight never got old. The clear water of the Caribbean shimmered brilliantly, as if the surface was coated in diamonds. The sun enveloped the entire beach in a cocoon, along with the woman who lay in a chaise just before where high tide reached its limit.

Catherine sighed as she soaked up the rays, her skin protected by the strongest suntan lotion money could buy. Her white skin was now a creamy tan, making her hair look even blonder than usual. She was content to lay there all day long, but something nagged at her relentlessly, and she stood reluctantly.

She may not have been able to afford her own island-that had been a crazy idea, but a tempting one-but this isolated house on the beach on a small Caribbean island was just as good. No one ever bothered her, except for the occasional visit from Lindsey, or one of the old team members.

It didn't take much after that to remind her that of all the people who had visited her, the one that mattered still hadn't. Since she'd parted with him ten months earlier, Catherine hadn't even heard from Warrick. She had expected as much, what with the FBI still having to work out the kinks in his impromptu removal from Witness Protection, but it still hurt. After a moment of slow breathing to compose herself, Catherine decided to shower and then make herself dinner.

The warm water felt good against her skin, though the aching muscles she'd been used to as a CSI had long since lost their tension now that she was retired. She dressed in a flowing white skirt that cut off mid-shin and a pink tank top that accentuated her figure. She decided to toss a fresh garden salad for dinner, and cut up a fresh banana over a bowl of vanilla ice cream for desert.

As she sipped a cup of coffee on the front deck of her home, staring out at the setting sun, she fought off a wave of loneliness that seemed to come more and more frequently the longer she lived out on this island. Catherine knew she wasn't alone: she'd made friends with her closest neighbor, three miles down the beach. They frequently got together for dinner or drinks, but it didn't seem to quell the feeling that she was alone.

She stood and walked to the railing, leaning over with her elbows resting on it, sighing dejectedly. Maybe she just needed to talk to someone. She'd call Lindsey, and then she'd turn in early. It was as good a plan as any.

When Catherine turned to walk in the house, she was struck with the feeling that she was no longer the only one out there. She brushed off a wave of paranoia, an unwelcome side effect of being hunted by a psychopath bent on revenge.

Turning slowly, she was met with a more than welcome sight.

"Warrick?" she asked stupidly. She stood staring at him with what she knew was a dumbstruck look.

He looked at her uncertainly for a moment. "You're not going to slap me again, are you?"

"Maybe," she replied. "I'm still thinking."

He laughed a deep laugh, one that was utterly Warrick, and she smiled. Tossing all of her hurt feelings aside, Catherine threw herself into Warrick and kissed him, putting months of pent up feelings into a single kiss. Her heart raced and her mind was jumbled. She was just so damn happy.

When she pulled away, she glared at Warrick accusingly. "What the hell took you so long?"

He placed a lingering kiss on her lips. "You know how the FBI is. They had to have complete control. But I finally put my foot down. After all, I had a promise to keep."

"Oh, yeah? What was that?"

"I promised nothing would keep me from you again. The FBI took me away for three years, and I'd be damned if I let them take another one."

"That's good to hear," she replied earnestly before kissing him again. "So what did you do to convince them to let you come here?"

"Catherine, I'll answer all your questions. Later. Right now, I just want to be with you." And with that he kissed her, more urgently this time, and she no longer cared what circumstances led to him being there. All that mattered at that moment was that he _was_ there.

And, God willing, they'd never be apart again.

* * *

_**~Fin~**_


End file.
